Good Morning!
That was the greeting, cheery, bereft of any tinge of rancor, missing that subtle hint of big city irony when I hear a “good morning” in places like Austin. Or Dallas.
It’s about half a block from the motel’s cabin to a convenience store. I helped myself to a tub of coffee to get a kick start on the day.
Outside, at the gas pumps, there were four sun-burnt lads, leaning up against the back of the pickup, fishing poles were resting on the tailgate. They were back from fishing, at 7 in the morning, looking over their catch.
Sitting on the steps of the tiny cabin, a little tree frog hopped by. Tiny feller. Hope it means good luck. When he (she?) was sitting still, it would have fit on a quarter.
