Today was a solo day. Out on Jackson Ave amongst the strip malls, drive-thru restaurants, and Wal-Mart hangers on. But I was prepared, had the gear already at my house, and an idea of how long and what to expect.
If only for the loneliness of a day like today the ipod was in my pocket and the wire ran inside my shirt and up the collar. Inside Chick-fil-A Justin Townes Earle's new album shielded me from the continuous onslaught of Christian Rock. It took two times through to finish but, since I left the house at 6:45, the exciting but mellow tunes eased me into the day. They're all smiles there but creepy and I wish they wouldn't talk to me so much.
By the time I reached High Point coffee it was time for J. Roddy Walston and the Business. I danced a little with a squeegee in my hand. Over my shoulder I noticed two women talking. I was unable to hear but I'm sure they were talking about my dancing. What else could they be talking about at that hour. Outside I had to stop a car and remind him to order at the speaker before pulling forward. I don't know what causes it but it's happened so many times, there's something about me standing in the way that makes people forget to order and to rush to run me over.
At Cocomo's, one of Oxford's 17 Chevron stations, all serving a variety of breakfast biscuits and hearty plate lunches, I had to crank the volume on The Gaslight Anthem because the cashiers had the radio on and that Kid Rock song about summers, where he sings about Skynard and then steals their rift and later steals a Warren Zevon rift was on. Go ahead and click the link, it isn't actually Kid Rock.
Outside Cocomo's I had to disturb the dozen or so grasshoppers hanging out at one of the windows. When I did one of the grasshoppers flew off the glass and hit me in the face. This would be the moment that a Zen monk would talk about enlightenment if a Zen monk had been there.