This must be the place: ‘Little red wagon, little red bike, I ain’t no monkey, but I know what I like’
The absurdity of life, eh?
I’m just sitting here right now at the local laundromat in West Waynesville. Simply observing and reflecting on gratitude, for nothing and everything, and everything in-between. Families sit quietly around me awaiting the wash cycle to end. It’s Sunday morning. Back to work by this time tomorrow. Spend your free time cleaning your clothes.
This must be the place: 'Dear lord, do right by me, you know I'm tired of being lonesome, ornery and mean'
It happened to me, again. Somebody stole my laundry. All of it. And it wasn’t even in the dryer yet. They ran out the door of my neighborhood laundromat in downtown Waynesville with two loads of wet clothes, never to be seen from or worn out and about one more time.
This must be the place: ‘Bourbon laughter, ghosts, history falls,to park ing lots and shopping malls’
Thursday morning. Although the sunshine and blue skies over Western North Carolina seemed rather inviting, it was false pretense as I stepped out onto the front porch and realized that flip-flops were not the ideal choice to battle a cold mid-fall breeze across naked toes.
