Another Day At The Compound

The day started off ferociously stormy, with high wind, driving rain and thunder clouds rolling in from the south. A good opportunity to set up on the porch, say Morning Prayer and behold the fury of the elements. 

Then the climate changed, the turbulence in the heavens was stilled, the sun came out, and it became ferociously hot. Time to set up on the back porch for Evening Prayer. Such is Ascensiontide.

MAGA Troopers And A Fiddy

Prayer no sooner said than a couple of kids rode into the Compound's car park. They were checking out an appallingly chromed up One Fiddy that's been inexplicably parked on the gravel for the last two weeks.

Being an amiable LSP, I didn't activate AI controlled perimeter miniguns or call the MPs. No, I strolled over, congratulated the boys on their horses, which were in excellent order, and asked if they knew about the mysteriously chromed One Fiddy. 

Rodeo Rocks

It belonged to them, apparently, and still doesn't work despite a certain lack of attention on the part of the person who placed it in the DLC (Dallas Light Cavalry) vehicle park. Well, the Fiddy might not work but the horses did, and off they rode into the arbored boulevards of the rural Texan haven that is this town.

Respect

I tell you, I've got a lot of time for these youngsters and, in case you didn't know, there's a long tradition of black cowboys in this neck of the woods. And I don't want to be controversial, but if there was more of it, Texas, to say nothing of America, would be a better place than it is already.

Ride on,

LSP

Get A Haircut, Hippy

Joni, stay clear of that lecherous deadbeat

Life is full of challenges and we rise or fall on them as we move down the fast flowing stream of life. Here's a snapshot. 

You look deep into the black depths of the scrying glass and see a monstrous reflection staring back at you, some kind of long haired freak. 

Hippies

Who is that? you ask the polished obsidian and realise, in shock, that it's you. And the challenge is on, getting a haircut in this rural Texan haven. No, you're not scared, so you hit the road in your rig.

First stop, Quality Cutz but Quality Cutz is shut, unsurprisingly, because Cutz couldn't cut hair. It wasn't his strength, I hope he moved on to better pastures. I liked Cutz.

Cutz is Gone. He Couldn't Cut

Next stop, Creative Designs, all holed up in a half abandoned strip mall. No. Every chair was full of elderly women with tinfoil in their hair. Do you give up? On the contrary, you face the challenge and meet it head on.

This meant ending up at something called Salon 110 and that's trying because all I'm really asking for is an old fashioned barber. But they're gone in this farming community so you adapt and survive.

Polling

A pleasant young woman with pink hair got to work; cutting hair was her "passion" she told me and more power to her. About half way through she asked, "Did you go to Woodstock?" I resisted the temptation to say damn your impudence, "No, I missed that one."

Reckoning

Did I miss the teaching challenge and forget to tell her that "hippy" is synonymous with dirty, thieving, lying beggar? And that Joni Mitchell is a Devil Witch?

You be the judge,

LSP