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LAST FRONTIER
DAY TWO (Part One): Tuesday.
A hose. A tumbleweed. A clown.
Welcome to the boonies.
Because I’m a giver, I’ll spare you the wearisome particulars and provide just the highlights. I use that term loosely, since the “highlights” of this little experiment are basically the scraps of what would be “lowlights” in any realm where free will is an option.
It started with a “clink.” Then a “whoosh.” Then a curse word. Not from me, but from Dad. Of course I was tempted to join in, but the stream of expletives in my head has been playing like gangsta rap ever since we left, so profanity is more like white noise at this point. Pretty soon, I’m gonna have to learn another language just to make it interesting again.
But hearing Dad spout a little potty mouth this morning did ring
