A Few People I’ve Seen through the Front Windows of the Motel

A beautiful, curly-haired brunette, vomiting ferociously while her tall, soul-patched and pony-tailed boyfriend dances in place to the electronic music playing on the cellphone he holds buoyantly above his head.

Jason Isbell, the fantastic musician previously of the Drive-by Truckers, in town for a gig.

The same guy, wearing a large puffer/Michelin Man coat for nine months, be it hot or cold, walking at an incredible pace while holding his cell phone downward at a 45-degree angle, with the screen at its brightest, and volume at its highest. It plays talk radio, maybe sports-related. The first few months, he was of average build. After disappearing for a few months, he’s returned gaunt, but otherwise identical in appearance and movement. His short, scraggly, red beard never grows, never goes away.

A topless lady in 51-degree weather, who salutes me as she marches past. I was unable to promptly recall the proper response from the Army Regulations Manual. Ma’am, if you see this, please know that I am sorry, and I hope your mission was successful.

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