The West is Still Wild
Followed a noisy, stinking herd of longhorns running down I-10 at 75 mph, seemed to be enjoying their open air caravan, keeping our distance to avoid windshield cow pies. Sorriest Main Street, boarded windows, abandoned campers, windows busted, stained, tattered curtains flapping wild, front doors swinging in the wind. BUY ME painted on the roof of a deserted shack, chain link and barbed wire protecting beaten down mobile homes, rusted vans. The Bates Motel is the Waldorf compared to the local Harmony Inn, scarrrrry. Corner bar buzzing with home grown natives can spot an out-of-towner before their backside hits the barstool, tall tales to tell, some true, some not so, definitely our kind of joint. As if sharing a top secret conspiracy, an extremely skeptical source whispered they recently bumped into the real life, the one and only bonafide Aquaman, King of Atlantis, the underwater world superhero sensation was allegedly drinking a Bud and eating a burger at the Joshua ...