Living In Not The City

Sitting in some dead grass in Olympia looking at the sky, being eaten alive by bugs and understanding, just for a moment, why someone might choose to live their life, which you only get one of by the way, in a yeehaw rural area like this.

Living in a small town full of dumb pleasant white folks who know your name. Not because there’s anything special about you, just because you’re there. Never hearing gun shots at the park. Getting together with your big old family on Christmas and half-watching an Adam Sandler movie. Trekking up to the city once every few months, re-sensitized, horrified by it all. The drugs. The crime. The misery.

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