Monday, July 2, 2012


Friday pt. III

This drive down to Oregon is taking forever. I drive faster, only to get caught up in another pack of sheepish drones, following each other nose-to-ass, getting over into the middle lane or even the far left lane when there isn't anyone in front of them. I never understood what goes through the thought process of 99% of the drivers out there. Every day I almost get into an accident at least once. I can be driving down the road and if I spot something driving sporadically in any way, I can pinpoint what that driver is or what that driver is doing. Talking on his or her cellphone or, drum roll please, Asians. Settle down, I'm not racist, I'm just saying that when I label a driver in front of me in one of those two categories, about 75% of the time I will catch up and look over to find that I was correct. Let's not forget about old farts either, doing 45 in a 60MPH freeway. Heaven forbid you get near an old Asian. Or an old Asian talking on that damn cellphone.

I finally reach Kelso, WA and pull off on the exit. The town is alright, better than Longview, but still leaves something to be desired. It is almost as if it wants to be a ghetto, but the guys up top are putting just enough money into the shopping malls to keep the masses from smoking meth and gang-raping each other. Have to keep 'em occupied. The speed limits are all set too low throughout the streets, myself doing 25MPH over a small bridge when I can clearly be doing at least 35 without causing any harm to anything even remotely around me. I take a left after the bridge and nearly stick my radiator into the tailpipe of a tiny Geo doing a little over 15MPH in a 30. I get up close, inches away from the rear bumper, moving my headlights from side to side as to catch his eye in his side view mirrors, but nothing phases this driver. This only lasts a few seconds before I pull into the center turn lane and gas it past the small car. What do you know, an old Asian.

It is always a little exciting to come back to my hometown, crossing the Lewis and Clark bridge and looking across the river to the small town of Rainier. I have always enjoyed that view, making Rainier out to be this quaint, perfect town for your children to grow up in or for you and your hubby to retire and enjoy the rest of your days. Picturesque.

When you arrive into town all you can see across the river are giant haystacks with black smoke billowing high into the air and piles and piles of recently cut trees, stripped naked for easier hauling.

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