Wednesday, August 25, 2004
Today found me traveling to Dearborn, MO to interview some bloke's neighbor. See that? I'm so British. Bloke bloody bloke. Turns out, Dearborn is the most nothing town I have ever seen. As I am compulsively early, I was in Dearborn 35 minutes early and had nothing to do. Never fear, I tell myself, this entire street is full of various antique stores. Why are there no other cars on this street? It took me a few minutes to realize that every single antique store was closed. In fact, every visible business was closed, save for the library at the end of the road. Oh, and a self-storage facility. So I resign myself to sitting in my car, listening to my audio book, while observing Very Small Town America. I saw:
A giant calico cat taking a giant calico poop on the side of the road.
An oversized beagle prancing alone down the street, stopping in the middle of an intersection to scratch, start prancing again, stop again to wipe his doggie bottom along the pavement until reaching the other side. Eeew.
A little old lady in her little old car park in front of an antique store. She sat, looked around, and left.
A twenty-something year old man driving a very small car with most of his entire body from mid-torso and up hanging out the driver side out the window. Odd.
The giant pooping calico cat meet the wiping-his-ass-on-the-pavement beagle at the end of the street. I take time to imagine that they talk to each other and are good friends.
No fewer than 20 people come and go from the self-storage facility. What is really going on in there? Drugs? Prostitution? Underground gambling ring? Surely something more exciting than self-storage to bring so many patrons on a rainy Wednesday morning.
And on the way out of town, I noticed a truckstop restaurant called Tank 'n Tummy.
A giant calico cat taking a giant calico poop on the side of the road.
An oversized beagle prancing alone down the street, stopping in the middle of an intersection to scratch, start prancing again, stop again to wipe his doggie bottom along the pavement until reaching the other side. Eeew.
A little old lady in her little old car park in front of an antique store. She sat, looked around, and left.
A twenty-something year old man driving a very small car with most of his entire body from mid-torso and up hanging out the driver side out the window. Odd.
The giant pooping calico cat meet the wiping-his-ass-on-the-pavement beagle at the end of the street. I take time to imagine that they talk to each other and are good friends.
No fewer than 20 people come and go from the self-storage facility. What is really going on in there? Drugs? Prostitution? Underground gambling ring? Surely something more exciting than self-storage to bring so many patrons on a rainy Wednesday morning.
And on the way out of town, I noticed a truckstop restaurant called Tank 'n Tummy.
