When we continued on our journey, we came upon someone who claimed to be housing Billy The Kid.
The Gopher wanted a picture, for it was He Himself who orchestrated Billy's downfall. I was amazed and oh so humbled to hear of such feats of courage and might. I became so overcome, that I made the Bill Cosby Pudding Cup Face.
I am truly blessed to have been chosen by such a benevolent and yet just god.
It was a long trek yesterday. A day that both me and He Himself will soon forget, I am sure. The vast nothingness spread out in front of us like a plague, further feeding my beliefs that Texas is indeed purgatory. No beginning, no end, just a long, straight path of asphalt and shrubbery. It never wants you to leave. Much like Hotel California, but with out the whores and fine alcohol.
Soon, we came across a native of the lands. He was red of skin, a feather in his thick, black hair. He knew of THG, of his majesty and wished for us to follow him. The native explained to us he knew of somewhere we could roam free, a place free of blank voids.
His name...was Running Indian.
We both apologized for the poos man's oversimplified existence and horror-inducing name. It seemed that although both I, the emissary, and He, The One Who Watches From The Ground, were happy for a distraction and change of scenery, that we must tread lightly in order to leave this place alive.
We wove in and other of the labyrinthine displays of shot glasses and turquoise, our minds sharpening to alert ourselves to any imminent danger. It was clear that this place was no normal shop.
It seemed that those found to be enemies of this land was turned to bronze, much like the dozen Jesuses from Cross Land. But the difference here was that instead of a story, there was no rhyme or reason to the statues. A young boy frozen looking into a fountain with his dog as a ball is for some reason plopped in the middle. A gigantic dolphin cresting through a wave, 8 ft tall and designed for indoor or outdoor use.
Even a poor cowboy pulling a mime's rope. Where was the other end? Only the Gopher knows.
Where they chilis? Were they cowboy boots? For this one, the Gopher needed a moment of contemplation.
Finally we came upon a strange sight, even among this amalgum of horrors.
It was clear our time at the Store That Time Forgot. The Gopher paid his respects to the majestic animal...
And we ventured off.
That concluded our day in New Mexico, the sun setting over the foothills of Arizona. A day filled with dying Jesi, crosses made of aluminum siding, and dizzying Native American stereotypes.
It was a day that will live in on in our hearts, in our minds, in our spirits. A day of accomplishment. A day of peace.
May you all sleep well, dear followers.
Feeder Bottles and Foraging,
P.S. I will leave you with this thought to ponder though, beloved readers.
What is a Hay Fart?