We planned for 5, and I reached the Bojangle's at 40 and 42 at 4:30. Ten snausage and five butter biscuits later, I'm sitting in the traffic that is the nightmare of no zoning there, wishing the Johnston County Commissioners were staked in the middle of the road.
The truth is the citizenry there love those commissioners, and would be more likely to stake me out in the road.
So the phone starts ringing. Samo and Bro arrived early, and now wonder where I am and when will I be there. Apparrantly, talking to Mama and Buck is taking it's toll quickly.
I finally get there, and join the convo being held in the driveway. I'm not sure Mama recognized me at first, but she soon figured it out. Of course, Buck has to explain about the poor hay crop across the road. Again.
We go in and settle down at the table. It's 5. Mama's getting water for some of us. The others are having tea. Mama has a leftover cup of water in the fridge.
Now she's getting us plates. Paper plates. I don't know why. The plates are stained from previous use. They are now reusing paper plates, which also saves on water and detergent.
I point out that I'm OK with using the biscuit wrapper.
We're eating in silence. I ask Buck a question. Now, we're talking. Mama chimes in. Soon, we have two independent conversations going on.
Of course, Mama revisits the same three questions iteratively. She's also smitten with the trees by the creek.
Towards 5:30, it's over. Buck's going on about the hay. Mama's reminding me to call them if I need anything. She's worried that I'm going to Baltimore tomorrow. Bro and Samo are pulling onto the road.
One hour later, I'm back on the couch, thinking I should run an analysis, knowing I won't, and adding an extra shot of rum to the screwdriver.
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