One Question

Hey Buddy, I don’t know you, we’ve never met.  But it looks like this is not your best day.  I’m in my car and I see you walking over the overpass.  Since you are on the side without the sidewalk I’m guessing you are a defiant one.  Or too lazy to cross the street.  If I have to guess – which I do – I’d say you’re not more than twenty.  Your long denim shorts look kind of gangsta in a small town, redneck sort of way.  Judging by your not-so white shirt it looks like it’s time for you to learn how to do some laundry.  It’s not that hard.  The cast on your arm from wrist to elbow adds an interesting aspect to your story.  I’m just not sure what it is.  And then there’s the bag.  You’re carrying a garbage bag full of something.   This all leads me to one question, “Dude, what is in the garbage bag?”

But I’ve passed you and you have disappeared from my rearview mirror.  I will never get to ask.  Darn.

The Connection

People in a small town are interwoven as if connected by a giant spider web.  Be careful who you talk about, there’s a chance the subject of your story is related to the listener!

It was a small group of people who gathered around the opening in the earth.  If the deceased man had friends while living, none were compelled to brave the biting cold weather to bid him farewell.  Winter in Wyoming reaches inside a person and clenches the bones.  So, only a few family members came to say goodbye.  And only those that felt obligated to come.

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