In the sunlight, chrome looks frozen until you see the heat lines rising from it. In the middle of the desert, it reflects light outward like a miniature sun.
Small towns are strange places. Acutely aware of the strange from outside. Anyone from elsewhere is strange, because they’re unfamiliar. But none of them seem to see their own strangeness. Don’t talk to that woman, she’s crazy. Threatened her husband with a frying pan four years ago and she hasn’t been quite right ever since. Kids from town, where everyone knows their parents and their birthdate head in and out of the bar with impunity. I get carded three times before crossing the room.
_____, he’s all right. He’s a little different, but he ’got a good heart,’ so if he takes a while with your bill, just have a cup of coffee and be patient with him. It’ll get done.
I think that’s the strangest thing. In cities, people are in a hurry, because they have to go to work, have to get their drycleaning, pick up the kids from soccer, get their shoes shined, put gas in the car... There’s no commute out here. People live where they work, and like it that way. Most of them walk to work, unless they work out at the quarry, then they all head out in a couple of trucks and stay out until it’s dark and cool enough to be civilized. People are good at turning their eyes away from things they don’t want to see.
Nevermind that I actually was underage, I remember being very annoyed at having to fish out my ID several times a night if I went to the local bar. Singular. I felt very different and very strange living in a small town. I felt very visible as an outsider, and very invisible at the same time.