Day Seventy-Four, Fly Away Home

Find me at the Ammaaiisshuuwuua Laundromat in beautiful downtown Crow Agency, Montana. I probably could have made it a few more days without washing clothes, but one looks for places to hang. As stated, I don't intend to walk today, nor would I be able to if I did. My exploded toe is in very poor shape. What's left of my feet ain't much better. It was rather a challenge to limp back into town, and for the moment I plan to stay here.

I can't say I've been welcomed with open arms. Few but the kids seem to see me. They laugh and wave as do a few fellows in pick-up trucks. I think they might just be making fun of my hat. Nor too have I been robbed and beaten and left for dead in a ditch. I have faded into a pink tinted ghost that most people see right through.

Still I figure they have just got to notice me. I have never felt so glaringly conspicuous. And bear in mind I have been in the minority for most of my adult life. Different folks, different customs is all I can figure. I'll be moving on soon enough.

I did not sleep especially well. My toe was stinging me awfully. There was thunder and lightning throughout the night. I kept fairly dry in my tent. With me were dozens of ladybugs. I hadn't known they travelled in hoards. They are, nonetheless, my favoritest beetle and I was happy to have them aboard.

Ladybugs will bite you, believe it or don't, but only when there are no aphids available. Aphids are their very most favorite food. Human blood is but a distant second. In Britain they are known as ladybirds, as was LBJ's wife. Al Gore's wife, you'll recall, was called Tipper, which should give you some idea what has happened to the Democratic party in the last forty years.

I should too note that when I unrolled my tent last night, I found a good two dozen grasshoppers. They had been tightly wrapped up and squarshed in a bag, in the high heat for fifteen long hours. And yet they thrived. It is apparent that they cannot be killed, other than by He who sent them. Repent, all ye Montanans, repent!

I lingered long in my tent this morning. I had nowhere to be. I did what I could to doctor my feet but that may be a losing battle. I am giving some thought to visiting the hospitatal, but I know any competent doctor would just tell me to stop walking. When my toe exploded, the dead skin around the wound sort of folded into itself and formed a ridge. Any pressure, so much as a breath of wind, and the pain reaches into my soul.

Such as it is, at any rate. I have not tried binding it tight with a Band-aid®. That may be my very next move. With luck it will deaden and drop off into my sock. I'll pickle it and send it home. One day it will find a home in the James Museum, in a case near my broken heart.

So here I remain. There ain't much to eat. A grumpy woman sold me an expensive hamburger. For dinner I believe I'll have an Indian taco, which as far as I know is a taco made on fry bread. Sounds pretty good from where I'm sitting. When I get rich I may just eat little else.

I killed an hour in the park watching a youth event in which Ken, a sort of motivational speaker, did his damnedest to remind a hundred-odd kids of their ancestral pride. It was heart-breaking, really. The Crow have some toubles. The kids weren't really paying attention. They get paid to listen; at least they showed up. There was free food, as well. I had two good hunks of watermelon.

I did get some good news. I have confirmed the existence of a small store and cafe in Busby, Montana, my next stop up the road. It is an oasis and, in the short term, may be the saving of me. Otherwise it would have been a very long crossing, though not the last by any stretch.

My laundry is done. My computer's half charged. I am running out of things to do. Maybe I'll put my tent back up and settle in for a nap.

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I put my tent back up at six o'clock. There wasn't much else to do. I loitered in the park for a number of hours, sipping root beer and watching town life. There are all sorts of kids and horses and dogs. The dogs could all use a hot bath. The kids all seem to ride bareback and with a certain unconscious ease. Wikipedia teaches us that the Crow are a race of master horsemen. And they are very fond of dogs. In the usual sense; they are among the few Plains tribes who never developed a taste for them.

Tomorrow I had better get out of town, whether I can walk or not. As invisible as I seem to be, it is only a matter of time before I start to give people the creeps. Few people here are overtly friendly, and I could do with some friendliness about now.

And it is expensive; food, that is. It is no good place to stay fed. I didn't have the courage to go back to Grumpy Burger and the Indian taco stand was gone. I wound up buying a number of things fried from a glass box in the grocery store.

Fried, fried thoroughly and God knows when. I confess they were purely disgusting. This isn't a local phenomenon; they have these things everywhere. But just because everyone is doing it of course does not make it right. And I have never been compelled to eat them before. I would have been better off starving. Gawd.

And I stalked up on a few supplies for the road, none of them awfully much better. You'd be right to at least question the character of a man who eats weeners from a can. But I bought five of them so you can shut up. And Corn Nuts, God's most perfect of foods, though they make your breath smell just awful. And Pop-Tarts which frankly I'm sick to death of but which remain the cheapest and most compact source of calories I know. And a box of Wheat Thins, my staple carb, for which I paid more than five bucks.

It is widely known but rarely reflected on that poor people pay more for their food than rich people do. There are no Sunday specials or Costco discounts here. Such is Capitalism and the Free Market. It breeds obesity and malnutrition. This is but one case in point. Call me a Bolshevik if you must, but I humbly suggest that Free Market Capitalism, while every bit as delightful as George Will's best bow ties, is responsible for a lot of injustice in the world. Which leads to social unrest, terrorism, and war. And anyone who doesn't think we can do better needs to see me so I can kick his ass.

I ain't one of those touchy/feely Liberals. I can express myself in all sorts of ways.

Tomorrow I will suck from the public teat. I intend to go to the doctor. I ran into a Mr. Allen, a nurse paramedic who works at the local hospital. I expressed some concern about not having medical insurance and he all but laughed in my face. "They're used to that," he told me. Pretty much no one does.

Imagine a United States where everyone is well-nourished, well-educated, and well-cared for. Where the air is clean and the bridges maintained and everyone has a fair chance. I think it would be kind of neat. I don't care how we get there. Social Justice is not a codeword for Communism. It is the essence of Christian decency. Jesus had all sorts of thoughts on the subject.

And you saw what they did to him.

On that bright Biblical note, I'll excuse myself. We'll hope there's a long line at the hospital so I can get my computer recharged. Until then. Peace.

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