A Coma In Hope
The Indian man was going to show me the room before I agreed to stay because he said there wasn't a non-smoking room and I was about to leave because of it. When I asked for a non-smoking room he hesitated long enough to make it seem like there might be one but it was becoming pretty obvious that non-smokers probably stayed elsewhere in Hope, Arkasas. I followed him around the counter and out the glass door and did not once stare at his wife sleeping on the couch. I was giving her that much privacy. The sound of the baby crying in the room behind the counter followed us out the door.
He opened the room wide and it stank a little and then he opened the one next to it and it stank a little too, but sweetly. I said probably this one and he giggled nervously and said he had sprayed some smoke spray. I asked him how much and when he said 29 dollars I just nodded like, oh, what the hell can you expect for that price? Ok, I'll take this one I said.
Driving earlier in the day and I had become tense so I pulled off the highway and did a little shopping at Walmart. I don't know where. If I say Tennessee does that help? I bought a 10 dollar pair of black jeans. And some fishing lures, about 20 dollars worth. And one lightweight green rain pancho. And a vegetable cup with ranch sauce. And a fruit cup with unrealistic tasting cantaloupe and honeydew, two pieces of seemingly authentic pineapple and three grapes which I thought might have come from a laboratory but I wasn't complaining because they were delicious and crisp.
I asked the motel owner where I could find a Laundromat there in Hope, Arkansas because I wanted to wash my new jeans He asked me what time I wanted to do my laundry and I had to admit that I wasn't sure. That's what he was hoping for because he wanted me to know that there was a 24 hour Laundromat in Hope, near the Taco Bell. I said that sounded great.
That's not where I went though. I headed off in that direction but then did a sudden U-turn--there is after all no law against it, unless there is a law against it--and took a right on N. Hazel and wandered aimlessly through what appeared to be a section of town specifically reserved for black people, which as luck would have it, also had a Laundromat, at the corner of D, across from the church. I went in there and asked the first woman I saw if there was soap for sale and she grunted and pointed to the far corner. I got a box of Cheer for 50 cents and picked a washer that I could only hope wasn't a loser but how are you going to know until you know. I think I had already stretched to the limit any good will I was going to receive at this Laundromat and besides, how would you phrase that without sounding like a complete idiot? Um, excuse me again ma'am, but is the a good one? Or perhaps, Uh Yes, Could You Tell Me If This Machine Is In Good Working Order? Or maybe, Hi, I'm new here, what's your favorite machine? I decided to just mind my own business, the business of washing a single pair of jeans, and picked up a local advertising tabloid. I was struck firstly by an ad placed by a man looking for swarming bees. He wanted to give them a home.
I got tired of waiting and reading advertisements so after checking that my machine was in fact working well enough, I took a drive up Hazel and very soon came up on The Bank of Hope, which is out of proportion to its surroundings or to the point is the biggest fucking bank I have ever seen in a town so small.
I quickly finished my sightseeing and went back to wait on my jeans. The dryer was stingy with heat so I was there awhile. A toddler kept passing in front of me, back and forth, and I would have engaged her but I didn't want to get yelled at by the mother, or have the toddler get yelled at because of me. I continued to mind my own business. On one pass the toddler did a little pose and to no one in particular practiced her "whatchu lookin' at" delivery. Staring off into that distance beyond the glass front door where maybe there existed a young man acting fresh, she said, with considerable spunk and attitude--"whatchu lookin' at." And smirked. I think she was happy with the delivery. I know I was.
Later she came back and picked up the newspaper I had put in the seat next to me and I whispered, yeah, go ahead and take it. She carried it over to the floor in front of her mother and began taking it apart and spreading the sections out all around her. When their laundry was done the mama yelled, pick up that paper! and she began picking it up and wadding it such as her tiny hands were capable of doing. The baby girl got all the pieces gathered up and she was almost invisible behind the now hovering mass of crumpled paper. Put in the trash! her mother barked. She was standing at the midpoint between two trash cans and she started off for the one nearest me. But her mother barked again, and she paused, and then started back my way. I was hoping to get a good look at the earnest expression on her face as she performed this task but her mother barked one last time and pointed to the can closer to her. They left shortly after that and so did I.
I got a rib plate at Uncle Henry's Smokehouse, near the motel, and took it back to the room. Rated best barbecue in Arkansas according to the sign on the door and I don't know how much competition they are working with there but it was some good, and inexpensive. The ribs were fat with meat and the potato salad was right on and there was nothing wrong with those beans. I could only finish three ribs before my belly puffed out and then I was on the bed watching the women's softball World Series. In a matter of minutes I descended into a rib plate induced coma and was not seen or heard from again for the next 10 hours. The next morning I awoke and noticed there was no soap in the room but I took a shower anyway. I had breakfast at Sheba's before hitting the road for Dallas.
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Until I Came To Hope
As if you didn't already know this, there was no bacon at the Deluxe Continental Breakfast at the luxury business suites motel somewhere near Nashville. There was however a covered tureen full of sausage gravy that had its own silver ladle and a stand for it and looked pretty alright, pristine even, at 5:30 a.m. with only me and that other grumpy malcontented Boomhauer mumbling early rising guy slopping gravy over our dry biscuits, but I would not want to be at the later end of that breakfast because oh Lord the disgusting things that would run through my mind just looking at that sausage gravy-caked ladle after 5 hours of use, and the gravy would be splattered all over everything because people staying here are taking a vacation from raising their children. Also I had a sweet roll and some apple juice. No coffee. I already had coffee in the room. I was going to leave but instead got up the nerve to try the do-it-yourself Belgian Waffle maker. I read the directions while pouring the Styrofoam cup of mix over the hot griddle. It sizzled. Close the griddle, check. Spin the griddle upside down and wait two minutes, check. An imbecile could make these waffles. I tore off and folded large pieces of the butter and syrup soaked grilled dough and poked them into my wide open mouth with a white plastic fork. I had another apple juice, picked up an orange for the road, and beat it for the already packed Jeep out front.
I took the loop around Nashville and about midway to Memphis stopped for gas. While standing there I could see off in the distance a billboard that said I Love You and it was signed by Jesus Christ. I contemplated briefly the legal ramifications of signing somebody's name without their permission. Under I Love You it said Come To Know Me. I thought that was a little provocative but good advice just the same. I took a picture of the sign. There was a MacDonalds attached to this gas station and a sign in the window that said free wifi. I pulled around back and posted the picture. Then I drove towards Memphis with its ill-conceived and notably bad interruption of Interstate 40. The Peabody Hotel was visible in the distance, from the elevated interstate. I saw the ducks on TV once. A glass pyramid on the river is also visible. Half way over the Mississippi River bridge leaving Memphis you enter Arkansas.
In Little Rock there is a very big Pentecostal church.
I ate the last of my toasted peanut butter crackers from the Lance Corp. And a slice of orange. A chunk of beef jerky. A sip of water. And a Dentyne Ice. I stopped being on mountain roads somewhere after Nashville, I noticed somewhere near the exit for Hot Springs, Arkansas.
I headed off for Hot Springs but then turned around and got back on Interstate 30, frightened by the audacity of my decision making.
On the XM radio I moved between Bluesville and Fred. Fred was for a while featuring the year 1978, which was the last year before I took to dropping out earnestly. I remember a lot of buzz about the Talking Heads back then. When not listening to those two I was at 164 listening to old time radio. The Lone Ranger, Gunsmoke, Dr. Kildaire, Sam Spade, a Ray Bradbury story, stuff like that.
I thought I might just make it to Dallas and be there a day early and I would eat Mexican food but then I decided on Texarkana which was a solid goal until I came to Hope and that is where I stopped.
As if you didn't already know this, there was no bacon at the Deluxe Continental Breakfast at the luxury business suites motel somewhere near Nashville. There was however a covered tureen full of sausage gravy that had its own silver ladle and a stand for it and looked pretty alright, pristine even, at 5:30 a.m. with only me and that other grumpy malcontented Boomhauer mumbling early rising guy slopping gravy over our dry biscuits, but I would not want to be at the later end of that breakfast because oh Lord the disgusting things that would run through my mind just looking at that sausage gravy-caked ladle after 5 hours of use, and the gravy would be splattered all over everything because people staying here are taking a vacation from raising their children. Also I had a sweet roll and some apple juice. No coffee. I already had coffee in the room. I was going to leave but instead got up the nerve to try the do-it-yourself Belgian Waffle maker. I read the directions while pouring the Styrofoam cup of mix over the hot griddle. It sizzled. Close the griddle, check. Spin the griddle upside down and wait two minutes, check. An imbecile could make these waffles. I tore off and folded large pieces of the butter and syrup soaked grilled dough and poked them into my wide open mouth with a white plastic fork. I had another apple juice, picked up an orange for the road, and beat it for the already packed Jeep out front.
I took the loop around Nashville and about midway to Memphis stopped for gas. While standing there I could see off in the distance a billboard that said I Love You and it was signed by Jesus Christ. I contemplated briefly the legal ramifications of signing somebody's name without their permission. Under I Love You it said Come To Know Me. I thought that was a little provocative but good advice just the same. I took a picture of the sign. There was a MacDonalds attached to this gas station and a sign in the window that said free wifi. I pulled around back and posted the picture. Then I drove towards Memphis with its ill-conceived and notably bad interruption of Interstate 40. The Peabody Hotel was visible in the distance, from the elevated interstate. I saw the ducks on TV once. A glass pyramid on the river is also visible. Half way over the Mississippi River bridge leaving Memphis you enter Arkansas.
In Little Rock there is a very big Pentecostal church.
I ate the last of my toasted peanut butter crackers from the Lance Corp. And a slice of orange. A chunk of beef jerky. A sip of water. And a Dentyne Ice. I stopped being on mountain roads somewhere after Nashville, I noticed somewhere near the exit for Hot Springs, Arkansas.
I headed off for Hot Springs but then turned around and got back on Interstate 30, frightened by the audacity of my decision making.
On the XM radio I moved between Bluesville and Fred. Fred was for a while featuring the year 1978, which was the last year before I took to dropping out earnestly. I remember a lot of buzz about the Talking Heads back then. When not listening to those two I was at 164 listening to old time radio. The Lone Ranger, Gunsmoke, Dr. Kildaire, Sam Spade, a Ray Bradbury story, stuff like that.
I thought I might just make it to Dallas and be there a day early and I would eat Mexican food but then I decided on Texarkana which was a solid goal until I came to Hope and that is where I stopped.
Keyword Is Almost
I stopped somewhere in Tennessee not quite Nashville and am now waiting for it to be 5:30 a.m., which is when the Deluxe Continental Breakfast will begin. I can almost smell the bacon frying from here up on the third floor of the Comfort Inn. In the past and possibly the future I would forgo this renting of a room and just sleep in the vehicle parked somewhere less than ideal. There is something approximately tasting like coffee sitting next to me. My own personal 4 cup coffee maker is in the bathroom. I'm not sure this is coffee.
There are pamphlets over there on the desk telling me what goes on around here but I'm not going to check them out. I'm passing through. The last time I traveled this way but in the opposite direction I did it high on Red Bull in 22 hours straight driving. This time I'm breaking it into three days. Ten or 12 hours from now I will be close enough to Texas but such a long ways from meeting Bernadette at the Dallas airport that I will have to come up with some plan of action to fill my time. I think I will be in Arkansas when I am making that decision. I wonder what it will be, my decision. I bet I won't be thinking very clearly at the time.
I'm ready to go now but it is still only 5:08. I did some editing, 5:12 now.
There is an indoor pool here and a Fitness Room but they are closed.
I did not use the mini-fridge or the microwave.
This room has two phones, twice as many as I need.
Guess I'll get my motor running.
I'm almost going to miss this place.
I stopped somewhere in Tennessee not quite Nashville and am now waiting for it to be 5:30 a.m., which is when the Deluxe Continental Breakfast will begin. I can almost smell the bacon frying from here up on the third floor of the Comfort Inn. In the past and possibly the future I would forgo this renting of a room and just sleep in the vehicle parked somewhere less than ideal. There is something approximately tasting like coffee sitting next to me. My own personal 4 cup coffee maker is in the bathroom. I'm not sure this is coffee.
There are pamphlets over there on the desk telling me what goes on around here but I'm not going to check them out. I'm passing through. The last time I traveled this way but in the opposite direction I did it high on Red Bull in 22 hours straight driving. This time I'm breaking it into three days. Ten or 12 hours from now I will be close enough to Texas but such a long ways from meeting Bernadette at the Dallas airport that I will have to come up with some plan of action to fill my time. I think I will be in Arkansas when I am making that decision. I wonder what it will be, my decision. I bet I won't be thinking very clearly at the time.
I'm ready to go now but it is still only 5:08. I did some editing, 5:12 now.
There is an indoor pool here and a Fitness Room but they are closed.
I did not use the mini-fridge or the microwave.
This room has two phones, twice as many as I need.
Guess I'll get my motor running.
I'm almost going to miss this place.
Country Time
A woman was pushing a stroller across the pasture so she could show the baby the horses up close. A man across the road was walking down to the pond carrying two fishing poles in his right hand. A neighbor to the left was having a party and the overflow parking was up to the fence. Soft jazz music and polite laughter could be heard. Down the hill some, next to the partying neighbor another group played horseshoes and the fisherman heard someone say in a congratulatory tone something about a "leaner."
A red winged blackbird did battle with a crow and then hovered awkwardly over the fisherman's head.
The woman with the baby said, "see the horsey?"
A small mouth bass felt the vibration of a splash and then saw a pink swirling motion, which it mistook for food and sucked into its mouth. Above the gills and right below his left eye the bass became aware of a hard tugging motion and he swam in the direction of the tug.
There was laughter over the jazz music and laughter over the clanging of horseshoes and the baby across the road in the horse pasture said "hama's." The mother said, "horsey."
Somewhere, a dog barked. Somewhere else a gun was fired. The fish leapt from the pond and did a swiveling somersault in the air. When it landed back in the water there was no more tugging from the left side. The fisherman said, "shit."
Next to the horseshoe match people in chairs facing west were waiting for a majestic sunset that never did quite happen.
A light breeze blew and floating algae along the banks of the pond moved out into the center to form small islands.
People on a porch moved inside.
A truck came down the road and hesitated briefly, before moving on.
The fisherman casted out and landed the pink and brown plastic worm on top of a floating wad of algae. Reeling in he discovered not just the tug of algae but that of a fish. It seemed to be swimming toward him as he reeled it in. At the last minute it made a sudden desperate fighting maneuver but not enough of one before the fisherman had it flapping its gills on the grassy bank. The fish was hooked clean on the bottom lip. Before releasing it the fisherman noticed that the fish had a hole in it just below the left eye.
At the afternoon jazz party the first guest had to leave.
Glancing across the road the fisherman saw no sign of the woman with the stroller.
A cat hunted mice in the tall grass.
A woman was pushing a stroller across the pasture so she could show the baby the horses up close. A man across the road was walking down to the pond carrying two fishing poles in his right hand. A neighbor to the left was having a party and the overflow parking was up to the fence. Soft jazz music and polite laughter could be heard. Down the hill some, next to the partying neighbor another group played horseshoes and the fisherman heard someone say in a congratulatory tone something about a "leaner."
A red winged blackbird did battle with a crow and then hovered awkwardly over the fisherman's head.
The woman with the baby said, "see the horsey?"
A small mouth bass felt the vibration of a splash and then saw a pink swirling motion, which it mistook for food and sucked into its mouth. Above the gills and right below his left eye the bass became aware of a hard tugging motion and he swam in the direction of the tug.
There was laughter over the jazz music and laughter over the clanging of horseshoes and the baby across the road in the horse pasture said "hama's." The mother said, "horsey."
Somewhere, a dog barked. Somewhere else a gun was fired. The fish leapt from the pond and did a swiveling somersault in the air. When it landed back in the water there was no more tugging from the left side. The fisherman said, "shit."
Next to the horseshoe match people in chairs facing west were waiting for a majestic sunset that never did quite happen.
A light breeze blew and floating algae along the banks of the pond moved out into the center to form small islands.
People on a porch moved inside.
A truck came down the road and hesitated briefly, before moving on.
The fisherman casted out and landed the pink and brown plastic worm on top of a floating wad of algae. Reeling in he discovered not just the tug of algae but that of a fish. It seemed to be swimming toward him as he reeled it in. At the last minute it made a sudden desperate fighting maneuver but not enough of one before the fisherman had it flapping its gills on the grassy bank. The fish was hooked clean on the bottom lip. Before releasing it the fisherman noticed that the fish had a hole in it just below the left eye.
At the afternoon jazz party the first guest had to leave.
Glancing across the road the fisherman saw no sign of the woman with the stroller.
A cat hunted mice in the tall grass.
A Short History Of The 14th Century
I had an itch in the center of my back. Couldn't reach it. Am not that flexible. Should have used the wooden fork over on the counter but the steak knife was right in front of me so I used it as a back scratcher instead and I think you can see where this is going. No you can't. Nothing happened and I won't require stitches. Actually, with a Zen-like surgical precision I believe I dislodged something. Later in bed I felt that something crawling on my chest and I looked down my shirt and saw a blood-engorged tick lolly-gagging along one of my rib bones. Grabbing it with thumb and forefinger I placed it gently on the bedside table and set it on fire. Although clearly not impervious to intense heat they are not really that flammable, blood-engorged ticks, and it now sits still, still on my bedside table, dead as a doornail, which is an expression without certifiable meaning, dating back to the 14th century.
I had an itch in the center of my back. Couldn't reach it. Am not that flexible. Should have used the wooden fork over on the counter but the steak knife was right in front of me so I used it as a back scratcher instead and I think you can see where this is going. No you can't. Nothing happened and I won't require stitches. Actually, with a Zen-like surgical precision I believe I dislodged something. Later in bed I felt that something crawling on my chest and I looked down my shirt and saw a blood-engorged tick lolly-gagging along one of my rib bones. Grabbing it with thumb and forefinger I placed it gently on the bedside table and set it on fire. Although clearly not impervious to intense heat they are not really that flammable, blood-engorged ticks, and it now sits still, still on my bedside table, dead as a doornail, which is an expression without certifiable meaning, dating back to the 14th century.
The Dysfunction Of Little Walter's Mouse
I was telling Bernadette about a little accident I almost had this morning. It was a thing I won't tell you, to save you from embarrassment. It was a thing that in the telling of to Bernadette suggests that there are some steps on the road to intimacy one might be better stepping around.
There are times when circumstances allow only that you remain mute or if prodded to speak be crude.
All our tales are not pretty ones. There is limited time budgeted for your life as a superhero. We cannot always be free from mundane worries and unpredictable body functions. Find a day when you look in the mirror and looking back is not a total loser, and take a picture. Put the picture in an album and believe that the album represents a locked reality. Believe this as long as you can.
Medicate if there is no alternative.
She said tell me again why it is you must go in person to pay the cable bill?
At this point in time I have a single goal and that goal is one sentence.
All the other words are blocks supporting the one sentence trophy.
She only pretends to be jealous to make me feel better about my own jealousy.
You going down there to see that cable lady?
I wrote back the first couple of lines to Me and Mrs. Jones but replaced Jones with counter- person.
I waited for her to make out the two receipts and listened to her discuss with her co-worker the problems with Little Walter's mouse and that's all there is to this.
I was telling Bernadette about a little accident I almost had this morning. It was a thing I won't tell you, to save you from embarrassment. It was a thing that in the telling of to Bernadette suggests that there are some steps on the road to intimacy one might be better stepping around.
There are times when circumstances allow only that you remain mute or if prodded to speak be crude.
All our tales are not pretty ones. There is limited time budgeted for your life as a superhero. We cannot always be free from mundane worries and unpredictable body functions. Find a day when you look in the mirror and looking back is not a total loser, and take a picture. Put the picture in an album and believe that the album represents a locked reality. Believe this as long as you can.
Medicate if there is no alternative.
She said tell me again why it is you must go in person to pay the cable bill?
At this point in time I have a single goal and that goal is one sentence.
All the other words are blocks supporting the one sentence trophy.
She only pretends to be jealous to make me feel better about my own jealousy.
You going down there to see that cable lady?
I wrote back the first couple of lines to Me and Mrs. Jones but replaced Jones with counter- person.
I waited for her to make out the two receipts and listened to her discuss with her co-worker the problems with Little Walter's mouse and that's all there is to this.
Conrad Jones And The King Of Prussia
Everyone says he has Alzheimers. That's the first thing a person will say if you mention his name. Oh yeah, Jones, has Alzheimers. Sanders has a bump on his dick. Anderson has a boil on his ass. Crenshaw has a uni-brow.
I do not really know him that well to compare what he was like before people started describing him as an Alzheimer victim. He acts in a way that to me could only be described as marginally odd, and exhibits behaviour that could just as easily be described as folksy. There are certain criteria to meet in order to be a bona-fide Alzheimer sufferer. If you don't meet them your behaviour is then described by a non proper noun like dementia. Bob has dementia, Rick's demented, Sandra is deranged.
I heard recently the positing of an interesting concept--that the world of imagination is not that place to which one escapes when life presents challenges but rather the psyches ultimate destination. The place you are meant to be. Not a way-station or a tool or a means to an end but that very thing which the seeking and cultivation of perhaps answers the question, why are you here? So if someone ever says to you in response to something you are feeling strongly about--that you are imagining things, you say, I certainly hope so, even though the saying of that will possibly convey exactly the opposite of what you mean.
Guests were packing up on Monday. Sparkle came in after a trip to the car and said to me that Conrad Jones was in the driveway and wanted to talk to me. She seemed moderately disturbed, saying Jones was asking her things that she had no answers to and at one point said to her that he needed a friend. That's when she said she would go get me. Sparkle's husband, Jesse, says she is a dementia magnet, attracting odd types where ever she goes. I thought she was kidding that Jones was in the driveway. I didn't really get the joke though. I wanted to play along but I wasn't sure how to act. What is my character's motivation? I wanted to ask the director but there did not appear to be one. It was then that I realized, by reading the crease in Sparkle's brow, Conrad Jones, who had never before stopped by for a visit, was now visiting.
He introduced himself and I said who I was, even though we have met a couple of times before. He was concerned about something that each time I tried to make him specify what that thing was he would retreat back into the folksy good neighbor character who was just stopping by for a visit. I'm not sure he was clear as to my role up here and so I contemplated making one up for the occasion. Nice to meet you Conrad, I am Dave, the King of Prussia, and I have come here to claim this hill for my mother country and make of you locals, adoring subjects.
He said I have a good head on my shoulder or he may have said I seem to have a good head on my shoulder and the latter of those two I believe to be the more accurate.
From here, you can't really hear the traffic on the nearby state highway, except like now, when there is what sounds to be four hundred motorcyclists passing through on their way to the Shenandoah Park.
It is not so much that the motorcyclists are noisy as it is that the quiet you previously took for granted becomes, after they pass, something new.
Everyone says he has Alzheimers. That's the first thing a person will say if you mention his name. Oh yeah, Jones, has Alzheimers. Sanders has a bump on his dick. Anderson has a boil on his ass. Crenshaw has a uni-brow.
I do not really know him that well to compare what he was like before people started describing him as an Alzheimer victim. He acts in a way that to me could only be described as marginally odd, and exhibits behaviour that could just as easily be described as folksy. There are certain criteria to meet in order to be a bona-fide Alzheimer sufferer. If you don't meet them your behaviour is then described by a non proper noun like dementia. Bob has dementia, Rick's demented, Sandra is deranged.
I heard recently the positing of an interesting concept--that the world of imagination is not that place to which one escapes when life presents challenges but rather the psyches ultimate destination. The place you are meant to be. Not a way-station or a tool or a means to an end but that very thing which the seeking and cultivation of perhaps answers the question, why are you here? So if someone ever says to you in response to something you are feeling strongly about--that you are imagining things, you say, I certainly hope so, even though the saying of that will possibly convey exactly the opposite of what you mean.
Guests were packing up on Monday. Sparkle came in after a trip to the car and said to me that Conrad Jones was in the driveway and wanted to talk to me. She seemed moderately disturbed, saying Jones was asking her things that she had no answers to and at one point said to her that he needed a friend. That's when she said she would go get me. Sparkle's husband, Jesse, says she is a dementia magnet, attracting odd types where ever she goes. I thought she was kidding that Jones was in the driveway. I didn't really get the joke though. I wanted to play along but I wasn't sure how to act. What is my character's motivation? I wanted to ask the director but there did not appear to be one. It was then that I realized, by reading the crease in Sparkle's brow, Conrad Jones, who had never before stopped by for a visit, was now visiting.
He introduced himself and I said who I was, even though we have met a couple of times before. He was concerned about something that each time I tried to make him specify what that thing was he would retreat back into the folksy good neighbor character who was just stopping by for a visit. I'm not sure he was clear as to my role up here and so I contemplated making one up for the occasion. Nice to meet you Conrad, I am Dave, the King of Prussia, and I have come here to claim this hill for my mother country and make of you locals, adoring subjects.
He said I have a good head on my shoulder or he may have said I seem to have a good head on my shoulder and the latter of those two I believe to be the more accurate.
From here, you can't really hear the traffic on the nearby state highway, except like now, when there is what sounds to be four hundred motorcyclists passing through on their way to the Shenandoah Park.
It is not so much that the motorcyclists are noisy as it is that the quiet you previously took for granted becomes, after they pass, something new.