The renovating of downtown Dogwood has always happened in
irregular spurts. Office buildings got coughed up first, when some genius
decided to wrap a couple of old store structures in new windows and some sort
of bland gritty substance. There are still a couple of those left, but the
folks like my brother are edging them out slowly but surely. Creatures tend to
prefer that the history not be rubbed off of their locations.
We have a blues bar, a couple of restaurants, a coffee shop
in the reopened Galaxy Theater, and a bar that’s just a bar, but which is
really adjacent to the blues bar. By we, I’m not really referring to my
immediate family; I’m talking about, you know, those of us who are not them.
There’s a used book store. We’re friends with the owners there, even though the
Merc has a blue million used books as well.
Don’t squint or you might catch one of us. We’ll be
arranging bluegrass at the gazebo or Shakespeare on the library lawn. Gutting
an old ice cream truck for a mobile soup kitchen. Teaching a class at the Craft
Shed. Comping a drink for one of the willing.
Maybe you saw me earlier today, walking back from the Galaxy
with a recycled cardboard carrier full of frozen lattes I’d picked up as an
apology for being such a sulky bitch last night when Ben told me that Stephen
wants me to start drinking my supplement twice a day. Yes, I pouted, and I
imagined that it bothered him that I was bothered even as he dolled himself up
and then left to hook up with his latest mystery.
And yes, I did drink a second last night, but not before I
crept into his room and sneezed into his closet. So today it was lattes on my
tab.
You’d be amazed and appalled at what I have to do to make
myself sneeze.
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