I am accustomed to country living.
By “country living,” I mean Montana-style country living—where a
car may or may not drive by my house once during the course of a whole day. This morning, I woke at “work leaving” time,
here at the open end of a cul-de-sac in an Ohio allotment.
Every minute or so, for a period of about a half-hour, sports cars
and compacts vroomed to life
somewhere down-street and then quickly jettisoned out of the neighborhood,
passing just below our second story window.
Interesting.
And slightly less annoying than I
might have imagined.
--Mitchell Hegman
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