The Cow Palace.

My friend Lizzy (of Spoon Breaker), has an excellent blog. Because we both have blogs in their infancy, I feel that we should support each other and force each other to stick with it. It isn’t like I have any shortage of things to say! One of the facets of her blog center around how she works in customer service and has to make snap-judgments on people as she meets them, then writes down her observations and thought processes. I think it is unique and really cool, so, naturally, I’m going to take the idea. I plan on doctoring it a little, if only because mine won’t necessarily be an immediate study, but could be a recollection or entirely made up. If I’m going to write a record breaking book (har har!), I need practice.


His boots are caked in mud, and it was anyone’s guess as to whether or not a chisel would be able to pry the matter from his boots, or even if a jackhammer would be able to do the trick. As the type to state that boots were made to be used, to be dirtied, to serve a purpose, it is clear that it had never crossed his mind to shine the shoes or scrape off the grime to keep up with appearances that others may expect him to conform to. The laces are triple knotted, because as the day grows long he couldn’t be bothered with re-tying and re-tying some more. There are rumors that he sleeps in his boots, but with how valuable sleep is, it is doubtful that he’d hinder his comfort that way, because the days are shorter and the list never follows suit. Hell, by the time the sun disappears, his glasses are so coated in grime, it is difficult to determine if he has ever thought to see the world differently with a handy eyeglass cleaning cloth, or maybe he just bought them that way.

If you weren’t careful, you’d assume he came from pre-Oz Kansas, only the wooden fences have been replaced with metal, the barn under the guise of a palace, filled to the brim with hay to last through the winter to feed the bovine subjects of the kingdom. After all, his white one-hundred percent cotton collared shirts, are tinged tan from dust, dirt and grime. Incorrect assertion, however, because it is clear that he’s more vibrant than the sepia drenched tones of Dorothy’s dirt farming family. One look at his face reveals deep lines and crevices, whether from stress or laughter, one can’t be totally sure, but it is safe to assume that it is from a healthy dose of both. The former would be confirmed by the white hair and the amount he still has, the later by the width of his mouth when he smiles, only people who laugh a lot have a wide smile, and the twinkle in his eye. There is no doubt that there is a balance of work and play in his life, he’s just lucky enough to know the difference between them and give his all in both.


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