Travels 29March96

Leaving the sprawling, electric wonder world of Yale, Oklahoma on the second sojourn to Stroud in as many days. Turning our backs on the nameless, faceless multitudes who have called Yale “home” for more years than some can remember.

Heading south on Norfolk road we pass what I’m told is the LEGENDARY McKinney butchering plant, ie. SLAUGHTERHOUSE. The last stop on many a bovine trek. Yesterday, returning home on this same road, we saw a rack of freshly killed and skinned cattle hanging limply, upside down, right outside McKinney’s front entrance. Thankfully we hadn’t partaken of much beef that afternoon, so our consciences weren’t TOO badly shaken.

I didn’t realize when I began this travelogue what a bumpy motherfucker of a road this is.

A Wal-Mart film developing van speeds by our side, most likely loaded down with photographs and memories already developed. Or they could be on their way to the dark room.

The sky is an overcast grey. The kind of clouds that dare you to say “It’s gonna rain.” These clouds would be just as content to make a liar out of you as they would to bless us with some water.

Slow elderly lady in red Oldsmobile doesn’t appear to have even noticed the line of cars passing her by. Her eyes are locked on the road in front of her, afraid to even glance in her rear or side-view mirrors.

Road Kill Alert: 1 large skunk, minimal bleeding. It must have been killed several hours ago, as there is no noticeable stench.

Two out of three cows to the left could care less about the traffic. They’re hungry and the grass is just beginning to turn green from a sun that hasn’t shown itself much this year.

The wife doesn’t seem to enjoy the jazz I’ve got playing on the stereo. “Find something without a trumpet,” she suggests. I inform her that the solo she’s hearing is on a saxophone. People who don’t know the difference between trumpets and saxophones must surely have no capacity to appreciate jazz music. Not that it’s any big deal.

The baby in the back has been crying practically non-stop since we left the house, and we’re within a mile of our destination. He doesn’t like to be restricted in his car seat. I guess he’s pretty pissed off, and if you hand him a toy, in an attempt to comfort him, he will only throw it back at you.

Now we’re here. Stroud’s Tanger Outlet Mall, home of the Book Warehouse. That’s where I’ll, be if I’m needed. Just have ‘em page me.