I needed a cup of Joe to keep me homeward bound. I stopped in this tiny town and am at the only place in town, having good coffee and talking with the old timers. I love this stuff.
“Frosty” is talking about his trucks and Dick gave me some sage advice as he struggled to stand with his cane and the help of his granddaughter: “don’t have a stroke.”
Coffee was a little pricey, though. Charged me a dollar for two cups and I had to help myself.
I’m thinking if I sit here long enough it’ll be happy hour and I’ll only have to pay fifty cents!
I'm just a guy who finds the world an interesting place and likes to capture certain moments with a camera. They aren't for sale, or anything. I just like them. Well, usually. I've taken a lot of photos I don't like, as well.
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Every time I get a little cocky about my traveling prowess, something will happen that reminds me that I’m just a dope. Case in point, two nights ago I arrived in Oslo, Norway. Now this isn’t my first time here, and I’ve learned, after many trips, that Oslo is very expensive. But there are a few tricks to save a few Krone.
The first time I heard Navajo spoken as a natural course of conversation was in Holbrook, Arizona. I was in an art gallery that sold various Indian art. The owner, Nakai, spoke to one of the locals, who dropped by, in his native tongue. He sold me a ring in English.
As I pulled up next to the old Kingman, Kansas train station, the one on the edge of town, not downtown, all these cats came running out to greet me. Not just a few, but around 12 at quick count.
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