The rains from the tropical storm came and went, and then came again. The challenge was to be inside when the skies opened. As the showers were completely unpredictable this was a rather tricky dance. The showers ranged from flash flood inducing deluges to mists barely worthy of the term rain.
While sitting in a bar Saturday afternoon one of the more violent storms passed over, carrying with it strong powerful rain. Patrons that had just left came running back in. I chose a spot that afforded me a view through the open door and watched the poor souls caught outside during the downpour. Two girls ran by, both soaked to the skin. One carried her flip flops apparently deciding that wet bare feet would give her more traction than her rubber footwear on the rain slick brick sidewalk. A man walking across the street seemed resigned to his sodden state as he plodded along.
Later that evening I left the guesthouse to find a place for dinner. The first venue suggested was dark, loud and not to my liking. The Mexican restaurant next door to it, also suggested as a possibility, had a wait of 45 minutes. Beginning to despair, and being quite hungry by this time, I happened to see a small pizzeria, set back away from the sidewalk, just off the main street. Entering, I found a small space awash in wonderful smells. There was only one party there when I first arrived. A group of 6 people, most quite heavy, loudly discussing politics and the upcoming election. One woman continually stated her opinion that Republicans wanted to take the vote away from women and furthermore "Put women back in Burkas!" I found this odd as I was unaware that American women had ever worn Burkas. Inexplicably, as I was in Missouri, the USC game was playing silently on the t.v., as it had been in several other places that day. I found a window table, ordered and observed the people coming and going through the restaurant door.
A family entered, a man with his wife, who was another extremely heavy woman, and several daughters of various ages. I got the notion that he had never won a single argument in this house full of women. Perhaps he gave up trying long ago.
A heavily tattooed, emaciated young man came in. His felt porkpie hat had several feathers tucked in it's band. Against all odds it seemed to have fared rather well in the inclement weather that day. The chain attached to his wallet was long and thick. It's weight seemed to put a strain on his pipecleaner thin physique. He picked up his "to go" order and stepped out the door, striding up the street in his heavy Doc Martens.
I had ordered chicken wings. One of the hallmarks of good chicken wings is how messy they are. These were good, and very messy. One was so slick that it slipped from my fingers and landed under the table. As inconspicuously as possible I attempted to slide it back with my foot, then bend down to pick it up and deposit it among the bones of the ones I had already devoured. After finishing the wings I used the accompanying order of garlic bread to soak up the remaining sauce.
Another fierce storm began. I watched out the window as 3 small children giggled and screamed as they chased each other around in the pouring rain.