Twelve miles this morning, six on a well traveled highway. The trash lining the ditches caught my attention. Twenty-seven Bush Light cans, dotted about every 100 yards, all new looking, all crunched in the same strange way. (The implications of that aren't scary at all.) One box from a 72-inch big screen TV. Two used condoms. Eighteen McDonalds cups. Three banana peels. Dozens and dozens of plastic bags.
Pepsi drinkers seem to have less respect for the environment than Coke drinkers—3 to 1, I'd say. Missourians still drink a LOT of bottled water. Someone in eastern Jackson County is missing one brown sock.
Pink Boots Guy emailed a few weeks ago to invite me to a gathering of friends at his lake cabin next weekend. I politely declined. He wrote again today, offering to send me a plane ticket. I declined again, but tonight, as I crawl into a solitary bed in a silent house, I wonder about the things I've tossed out along the way.