I spent a couple of hours sharing stories and laughing. I also learned some colorful swear words from the gal who owns the shop and who studied in London.
Later I had a drink at the bar with a recovering meth addict.
"So, what's your story," she asked me as she sat down. I smiled and told her.
Her 44-year-old brother Joe just died of a sudden heart attack last month and they are burying him in the Confederate flag. (We're trailer park bikers," she explained to me. Which made sense.)
She then listened to my opinions on that particular flag.
And then we toasted Joe and Ralph.
“One of the great things about travel is that you find out how many good, kind people there are.”
-Edith Wharton-
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