Haibun: Nebraska Gas Station
Driving through the little hills of western Nebraska last July, the fields stretched forever when we reached the top, endless fields, nothing else. Needing gas, we pulled into the local station, the only gas station in the area. On both doors, the local fair, which was happening that day, featured rodeo events. I don’t remember the price to get in.
Over the radio, they started to announce possible tornado warning areas. The sky had only gentle cumulous clouds, nothing that looked like it had any anger. So we all went about our looking at the standard three aisles of capitalisms version of food.
Two teenage boys, dressed in jeans, dress shirts, cowboy boots and cowboy hats walked in to get their snacks, these boys were dressed to impress some local girls, maybe some specific local girls.
But the rest of us, those passing through, we were there to get gas and snacks to travel on. Two groups crossing, travelers and locals, each with our own expectations pulling us away in different directions.
moving down the wash with each
