Originally published March 30, 2005
I certainly bash my town in this space, particularly the old farts who clogs its streets and s-l-o-w-l-y pull in front of speeding traffic. The dread Metamuville Road—straight, flat, fast—has claimed three more lives since December. And dammit, Percy is back from wintering in Arizona already, so walking around the house naked is indefinitely out. But days like yesterday are why I live here. On my way into work, I left my keys in the ignition as I stopped to give my lawyer the software he accepts in trade for his legal services. And then I again left my keys in the ignition as I picked up Ed's medication at the vet, where a bemused local store owner was picking up his golden retriever, who periodically wanders across town to hang out in the vet's waiting room. On my way home last night, I stopped at the tiny MetamuMart grocery to pick up a newspaper, and when I returned to my car, the store owner, Kiki, was wriggling into my passenger seat."Am I giving you a ride home?" I asked her.
"No, we're going drinkin'."
I nodded to the three bald eagles perched on the nearby pilings, and then we went drinkin.'