You can’t retire! Who’s going to put up important notices at Tony’s? Who’s even going to know that you need to put things you need everyone to see at Tony’s? We’re going to get some yahoo from Bellevue, mark my words, and I will have zero chance of ever seeing him at the Dairy Queen.
Is someone from Bellevue going to know the joy of creeping right up to the edge of the ridge in your car and then letting your foot off the gas so that you coast down it going faster and faster and faster until you’re sailing by the little Methodist Church, the corner where a cemetery should be, the trailer park? Are they even going to be able to guess where the Devil’s Elbow is? What will they have to say about our neighbors with pigs in their yards? Are they going to understand our peculiar charms?
This is terrible. I have half a mind to go latch on to your ankle and let you drag me behind you while I cry.