Walking to Hal and Mal’s to pick my car up, six thirty ayem:
Tatooed neighbor, who’ve I’ve never seen before, and who probably hasn’t gone to sleep yet: “Hey. Why are you walking? Did you just get up?”
Me: Naw. Walking to get my car.
“Listen, kid—you clearly didn’t hear me. Do you need a ride?”
Only in Jackson will there be strangers who—regardless of need—will insist on driving you places, from empathy, from worry.
Man, this makes me miss Jackson. I spent that whole August walking around town without a car, and folks looked at me like I was touched in the head.
Say, so how was DBT?
Something else I love—”why are you walking” is a perfectly valid question.
Heh! I totally thought your car wasn’t at H&Ms last night, but that you just had your key with you. Errrr. Queen Observatron loses another point!
Also, can I have that lightning bolt necklace? Thanks.
Yes to all of this! WHY YOU WALKING THAT IS SO WURRRD