So here I am, home. North Platte is dark and quiet. It always is. Of course, I guess that the holiday has practically already started, but no, the town is quieter than usual.
My family greeted me with hugs and not much else. We are a blue-collar family, you understand. My mother works tommarow, than we go to my grandmother's to eat, than we return to routine. Except it's not mine anymore, just awkwardness.
The drive was pleasant. It was a sunny day, and warm. I made pit stop at the Big Apple in Kearney, the greatest bowling alley in the world. I loved that place when I was a kid. It has bumper cars. I own at bumper cars.
There was some sort of weird dust/mist rising off of the corn fields by the side of the interstate. It may have been overly dry dirt. It may have been some cancerous pesticide. Either one works. Neither will hasten the end of the Great American Heartland faster than the other.
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