Free to Write

Speaking of which, have you met Ruby? She was the first person I met when I showed up in this town--what there is of it. How can you call a place a town if there's no WalMart to make people stop in off the highway. Why, if you blink at the right time on the road, you'll miss every single blessed building. Of course, the road's so windy, you'd probably hit one, just to prove that I'm telling a lie. You're tricky like that.

Well, Ruby lives with her Mama and Daddy way out at the north edge of town in this little blue house with pink shutters--and not a reasonable pink. It's the kind of pink you get when you pour a tablespoon of peptobismal, and no one should want their house to remind other people of intestinal difficulties--but there you are. The roof is tin and they've parked their double wide so far from their neighbors that when you stand on their front stoop, it feels like they're the only people in the world. Which kind of explains Ruby, bless her heart.