This evening I walked to the local general store. I live 1.5 miles away from it to be exact. The reason I walked is because I just got my car reposessed. Anyway, so I need beer and smokes and a little snack. So I decided I could use a little walk. I like walking. Even if it's on the side of a country highway. And even if some of the assholes that pass me on the road beep at me or yell obscenities or call me a whore. Whatever. The same thing would happen if I was walking down some street in LA or where-ever. People are just idiots. Actually, my walk to the store was surprisingly relaxing. The sun was about to set. The air was envigorating me. My spirit needed a brisk walk.

When I walk on a road or highway I always look in the gutters or on the side of the road to see if I can find anything interesting. Like old photos, money, weird scrap metal. Like little windows into other peoples lives that once drove down this road at 65 mph high on speed or drunk or yelling at their kids in the backseat or two lovers fighting or some commuter in a hurry to get to their yuppie house on the other side of my town or maybe even some farmer who just threw out his chewing tabacco. For whatever reason, that fascinates me. To think that there is a story behind every peice of trash on the side of the road. For me, it's like a little treasure hunt. Little clues. Anthropological introspection on the roadside.

I think that more people should take walks on weird roads. Let's face it who wants to do that anymore. You may end up run over or kidnapped or abducted by aliens. Still, I think it's a meditative practice that more people should explore. I find when I just keep walking my mind starts to clear and I am able to sort things out in my head. One straight line. Focus. Step. Focus. I always try to invoke the power of visualization to find some dinero on the roadside as well. Sometimes I do.One time on one of my long walks I found a 20$. I really needed it too. Not this time though.I guess it wasn't meant to be. Oh well.

So yeah, I get up to the general store. The old man is there. The same bait and tackle for sale is there. The same maps to the lake. Same. I like it. I go grab a 12 pack of the High Life, some snacks, then I walk up to the old man and ask for my usual smokes. He always asks for my ID even though I am in there every 3 days. I look 12. So I understand. Little does he know I am more than double that age. But whatever. I am always prepared to fork over the ole ID. So he says " Tenneesee, huh?" and I say Yeah. He says " Have you been to Pigeon Forge" and I say Yeah. I said to him " I really want to go to Dollywood. " He said " Me too". then I asked " Have you been to Twitty City?" " Isn't that near Kentucky?" he responded quixotically.

We both mulled it over for a bit and then agreed it was somewhere off Highway 77. We could both be wrong. It was nice to share an introspective moment with the old guy. He seemed sweet and thoughtful. He said he had some neck pain. I told him he should maybe get a new thermapetic pillow. I don't think he knew what I meant. But I did say that they were available at Wal-mart. That seemed to make him light up a bit. Maybe I helped him. Maybe I just confused the old man.

So I paid for the beer and smokes and left. I headed back home walking into the sunset. Down that same highway. I passed where the old general store use to be. It looked like it was about to cave inward it is so decrepit. Again, I wondered about the people who worked there probably 75 years ago. I wondered about how people could probably have store credit there, you know, a little general store tab. An account. Because back then if you lived down the road on a farm and you just needed stuff, they knew you were good for it- or if you couldn't pay right away you would do your best. Or you would do some work for them or barter. Whatever you had to do. To do your best.

These days, now if you don't pay they will take your first born, or your liver. Or both. I wish things were more of a bartering system again instead of credit cards, and I'm thinking if we really wanted to we could start doing things that way in small communities and amongst friends. Really that's the way it should be. And I know some country-folk who still live that way. Out in Rural America people look out for each other, make sure their neighbor is OK. Things like that. If more people adopted those values in our country, maybe we wouldn't be so fucked up. Maybe I am being sentimental but I really don't give a shit because I know it's true.

Anyway, so I was half way home and then I suddenly felt my right ankle twist, and I heard this popping sound. Then pain. Not sprained ankle or broke ankle kind of pain, but twisted ankle kind of hurt. I was able to keep walking on it. So I kind of limped the rest of the way home. I didn't want motorists to see me hobbling. I didn't want some dude to stop his truck and go lady do you need help. I hate it when that happens. Even though I know people mean well. I just hate it. I hate the feeling of being helpless. Even though I honestly could have used a lift home. When it happened I didn't get upset. I just laughed. I laughed aloud. REALLY loud. It was like I was getting this great cosmic joke. And I'm ok with it & was OK with it at that moment. I'm glad I can be.When I got home my landlord had some homemade dinner and offered me a plate. It made the whole situation not seem so bad.

I guess the lessons here are :

1. Simple is better.
2. Wear better shoes. &
3. Be nice to your neighbors, you may need them to help you some day.