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Caca Rica
A helicopter with search light looking for a toothless murderer was flying around last night illuminating the tops of trees in this bucolic Rappahannock arena while I smoked a cigarette and danced oddly like a marionette puppet on the front porch of this premier 40 acre property within walking distance of the Inn at Little Washington, which notably, other than the notability of the starter meals at $230 a pop, speculatively exudes septic overflow uphill from the pond here, and is why I don't eat the fish I catch, but throw them back, because that shit is just too rich for me.
Free To Go
Like the demented circus clown booted up with chunky peanut butter I smile at police checkpoints. I have all my teeth, see.
I think there is now one law enforcement person for every 15 of us out here. A pocket knife stabbing murderous son-of-a-bitch is on the loose and has been for 6 days. Helicopters fly over, brown trooper cars speed by in reckless pursuit of a man on the run in an area that offers above average hiding potential.
Rumors abound, he's been spotted, there was a shootout, they got him boxed in down there at Gid Brown Hollow.
With a half dozen tequila shots and who knows what else coursing through my bloodstream last night I slow down at the checkpoint on Harris Hollow Road and squint through the flashlights shining in my face. Some of the murderer's teeth may be missing but I have all of mine. "We need to look in your vehicle sir." I understand. After glancing at the interior of the Jeep and finding me guilty of nothing more than being less than fastidious, I am given pardon. "You are free to go, sir."
Holy cow, the power of those words. Free to Go. Free to go where? and what should I do when I get there?