After filling the truck with petrol yesterday, I pulled away far enough to clear the pump station for the next person and stopped. I wanted a smoke and a pipe is awkward to fill while driving.
Getting the thing fired was a small chore, and offered me a chance to look around the area. I use the same station once a week on average but seldom take the time to look around that particular area.
Glancing Westward, I saw, desired and obtained a picture of this:
Just an old Cottonwood tree, badly burned by the fire which took the building, still fighting for existence.
I had moved the truck around to the bulk fuel section to take the picture, and while maneuvering it occurred to me what I was really looking at. Basically, it is what is left of a Quonset Building and lot, destroyed by fire six years ago or so. That thought opened a flood gate of knowledge I’d tucked away as dead ends and stuff. Not to be worried about or anything, just life memories that brush against ones life from time to time.
The building burned shortly after its owner returned from a twelve year sentence for drug trafficking. Don’t know, don’t care. His place, his life and his choice. While taking the pictures, I thought about his brother, dead of an over dose all these years. They’d been the villages two largest dealers until then. I noticed that the older one, the con, is still around and looking rather hard bitten.
Given his life, I suppose, that is understandable.
The picture below is about the same, but it shows the Greasy I write about once in awhile, that’s it, up there on the left:
That yellow building, way back there.
I’m not sure who cares for this lots place now. Probably the station where I buy gas. If it is them, they’ve done fairly well considering the twisted metal and all that use to lay around down there.
The old VW really needs to find a new home somewhere. It got burned some, also, but isn’t too bad. The brother that died was the mechanical minded person of the two. He left the table just after purchasing the VW for a rebuild project and shortly before the fire.
Seeing the Greasy reminded me to speak with the Owner. His coffee gives me heart burn. Too bad it’s the nearest place for coffee when you’re leaving the village for town. The next nearest is thirty miles along the good highway – of course, by then you’re where you were headed in the first place.
From the reaches,