(cont’d from yesterday’s post) The Mojave Desert’s ‘Wonder Valley’ is a tribal, earthy ride: don’t expect to leave with clean hands. For best results, arrive having lived long and/or hard enough to recognize that life is not always lived in a straight line, ‘cuz the Valley doesn’t think it’s the world’s responsibility to make you feel comfortable in your own skin.
In WV, both the yin and the yang can pack a wallop. Take the Palms Restaurant: within 15 minutes of making ourselves comfortable at a picnic table behind the only game in town for food/booze/music/basic groceries/used shirts for sale, my friends and I were serenaded by a green-capped native with an animated tale about watching his beloved chihuahua get snuffed out by two unimpressed coyotes with impressive jaws.
They took my baby, he said with a grin that betrayed the gravity of his loss. I think he was just happy to have new ears at the Palms.
“Holy shit!” I shook my head about so, so many things then bit into the best tiny cheeseburger I think I’ve ever had in all my time on earth. I washed down those cheesy patties with a couple of unreal steak fries done “ketchup crunchy.”
#RespectTheWonder (no, that’s not a real thing. I made it up. But maybe it should be)
That’s my piece, and that’s my peace. Thanks so much for taking the time to read my silly words. It truly means the world to me. Carry on…