It is easy to forget that in an imperfect world, nothing is perfect, and therefore, Friday lingers in my memory like the odor of a public outhouse in the nostrils.
First, I went to bed late and woke up an hour and a half early; I couldn’t have coffee because, for the past two days, the radio station’s water had been off, meaning bathroom use, and even if we had water, and though there is a Keurig coffee maker I still couldn’t have coffee because we have had no coffee for months now; plus the station was off the air as the computer could not read the music log; then C Street was detoured, as was B Street and finally D Street, making getting around Virginia City tough, forcing me to resort to walking up and down the hill as I cannot carry all of my papers at once, especially while trying to write down the monies collected.
Delivering the north end of town was easy as I had the use of my truck. But I found the going impossible in the center and southward. It took me over two hours to complete that task.
Finally done, I hiked up the steps of the Tahoe House (hey, Twain had his Old Bar, and so I have my place) and sat down at the bar. There, I nursed a beer and chatted with the people coming and going.
It is also where I got roundly critiqued about the newspaper. I learned that not everyone agrees with the content.
Then, as is customary, I spent 20 to 30 minutes saying goodbye to everyone. Nearing the door, I stopped to say adios to Paul and Tatianna.
Seeing three boxes of coffee pods, I asked about their cost. Paul filled a gallon baggie with them and gave it to me.
I ain’t used to being loved on like that.
The Old Blog in the Desert 