37: Nebraska

I was standing in a field with Dusty when Anne called to wish us a happy belated something. “Was it a holiday yesterday?” I asked. “I must’ve forgot.”

Dusty wandered off to relieve himself. Anne said something about an international day of morning. “Yep, I had one of them once,” I said, “over in Ogallala, at IHOP.”

I zoned out for a bit after that. Anne tends to ramble; always has. Anyway, I must’ve been thinking of Denny’s.

Next I knew, she was talking about this mosque, how it was a slap in the face; that there ought to be a law.

“Shucks, sis, do you even know how big a block in New York City is?” I asked. “You probably can’t even see one from the other. And I know you can’t from Kenesaw.”

Anne cussed and hung up, and I walked back to my truck with Dusty, looking at my phone, waiting to get that wasted hour back. “You agree with me, don’t you, Dusty?” I asked. He just shook his head.

“Ah, what do you know?” I said, and spat in the grass. “You’re a cow.”