I spent my separation in the fifth most dangerous city, previously ranked the most illiterate of all U.S. cities, with the highest foreclosure rate in the nation, a hub for drug cartel, and the dwelling place of Charles Manson family members. Forbes named it America's Most Miserable City. And yet, it charmed me.
The unbearably hot sun and evening mosquitoes reminded me what summers used to feel like. The river. The stillness in the air. The silence at night. The fields of yellow grass along the interstate lulled me back to childhood. The absence of sirens and eccentric derelicts freed my mind from distraction. Brick buildings lit by streetlights. Stars in the sky. The old saloon filled with music and dancing ranchers and a guy at the bar with a cowboy hat under a wagon hanging from the ceiling. The perfect hideout from the city.
I joked that I'd pick up some hookers while in town. But finding a bit of love, like windmills and wild grasses, is free.
11:32 a.m. - 2009-08-26