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“Destination is on the left You have arrived” My phone tells me the dreaded news

I park in the packed dirt lot, my ten-year-old Subaru one of only two cars versus nine—no, ten—trucks They come in two varieties, old and dented or jacked-up and pristine other than the layer of fine red dust on the lower half “Toto, I’m not in Kansas anymore”

I shut off the engine but et nervous, but this is an extraordinary circu inside rumpiness with the inanimate mountain It’s not every day you waltz into a place uninvited and announce yourself Especially when I’ to be all that friendly It’s entirely possible that I ot here

Despitein the car forces ainst the s before I’ lot I pause at the door, th

The only thing I see is the neon sign proclai this place as Hank’s

Resigned to my fate, at least for the foreseeable future, I open the door and step inside Part of rade action flicks where the city girl walks in, a record scratches—even though no one plays those anymore—and a dozen sets of narrowed eyes turn to me in suspicion Two heartbeats later, there’ll be a redneck slurring out that my kind’s not welcome here

Despite years of late-nightme so, none of that happens

No one even looksin with a quick scan Wood floors, alls, wood tables, all glea it’s mid-afternoon There are a few booths with pleather that, even from here, I can see is patched with red duct tape like soether and keep the stuffing inside Countryin easily

Autorab my phone Its camera isn’t the best by any stretch, but it’s the least intrusive Still, I can’t exactly start snapping shots in the h ers itch to press the shutter My brain does it anyway, fra each take mentally

An old guy, wrinkles lining his eyes and e of a bottle of beer paused at his lip as he stares at the television over the bar Snap

A group of five guys wearing neon vests, work boots, and dirty jeans crowded around a table, looking like their day has already been enough to make them weary Snap