It's June 1st and I'm sitting outside working on my tan blissfully removed from all human contact. I cannot hear anything, no conversations or cars. No beeps or rings from anything. No motorized gardening tools. Just the bugs and the breeze. My friend's West Virginia farm (where I happen to be) is like the Garden of Eden, not for years have I had this much solitude and peace. But if I'm in heaven, then why do I feel so bad? My only link to the outside, the Sunday Washington Post, sits at my feet reminding me of The Rest of The World. This, I think, is the biggest social network in these parts. What do all the people around here actually do for fun? Hunt? Barbecue? Drink beer on their front porches? Drive trucks? Is that culture? I resumed tanning. Earlier, grocery shopping at the nearest market 20 minutes away, I have never in my life seen so many pork products. I had no idea you could buy bacon in 20 lb cases. There are foam containers holding little cakes of made o...
fitting all the pieces together