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The Prometheus Diet
I find I lack a certain discipline on the road. The brunt, of which, is paid for by my digestive system...well, and my liver.
April 8, 2019
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As I was cruising through rural Missouri, from Appleton City to Golden City, with Cooky's Cafe on my mind, I saw a building off the road and wanted a photo. I liked the way the shadows were hitting the porch and loved it's pristine condition.
I had to turn in "town" and go back to the park to ... uh ... park.
I grabbed a couple of cameras I was playing with, a Soviet era FED5 and an antique Kodak Brownie Bullet, and walked toward the house.
There was a lady across the street and up the way a bit eying me, so I thought I'd be polite and ask permission.
"Can I get a picture?" I shouted.
"What?" she replied cupping her ear.
"CAN I GET A PICTURE?" I yelled louder as she came closer.
"Why would you want to do that?" she asked.
"I drive around the country and take pictures with old cameras...for fun...it's my hobby," I tried to explain.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: She didn't have many teeth.
"I know the owners," she persisted.
"I'm not trying to cause problems, I just like the house and want to take a few shots of it," I continued.
"It's not a house, it's a church."
"I just like the church and want to take a few shots of it," I said, correcting my earlier statement.
"I don't care," she said as she walked off.
Thinking the interaction was over, I started shooting the place. I got a few with the FED5 and a few with the Brownie Bullet. Then I grabbed one of my Nikkormats and took a few. I have more than I need, no question.
As I was walking back to the truck she came across the street with pen and paper, wanting my name and number.
I pulled out my card and handed it to her. "If the police come asking about me, just give them this," I told her as loaded my cameras and headed out, looking forward to the piece of pie that was waiting for me at Cooky's.
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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I find I lack a certain discipline on the road. The brunt, of which, is paid for by my digestive system...well, and my liver.
I stopped along the back roads I was taking home in a little ghost of a town named Prescott. I let Biggie stretch her legs while I had a cigar and enjoyed the quiet of the neglected baseball Diamond on the edge of town. As we sat there, I watched a young father giving his toddler a ride on his motorcycle. Around the block he went...then again....
I went to see Clarence last Friday and he was in good spirits. He had been moved to a hospital type bed and was on oxygen and morphine, so, understandably, he was in a great mood. We joked about a lot of things as we passed the time, then he said to me "I really like your hat...can you order me one?"
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