I wanted breakfast at 2:30 PM, so I went to my first a Bob Evans franchise restaurant. A nice manager came round to my empty section, to sweep up the carpet for a second time just since I'd been seated.
"You're not from around here, are you?"
"No, no I'm not," smiling, "How can you tell? How do folks tell? Usually it's my license plates."
"It's just the way you sit up straight and cut your food."
I'm not sure my manners are usual where I come from either. But they seem to really stick out around here.
Anyway, the nice manager—he told me his full name, M—— A———hopes maybe to go hunting or fishing with my "husband" sometime.
This is my bit of a blog. Rambling words about rambling days. No focus and nothing ambitious. I seem to write most about local color, nature, and animals, and there is an incomplete chunk about my road trips of 2011.
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