Walmart dropping

So many reasons to resist a trip to Walmart, but there it is. I feel Wendell Berry angst every time I go pick up a prescription at the small rural community killer, thanks to Bert Evans, Studs Terkel, Barbara Ehrenreich, and Centennial College.

Mostly I dread the post-apocalyptic flocks of mutant grackles grackling at full blast in the parking lot and taunting me from the roof of my Buick. Plus, one never knows what one will step in alighting from one's carriage.

Last night the grackles could not be heard over the howling wind. Steering my shopping cart against the gale was nearly impossible. Wind chill was eleven degrees.

Just six hours earlier I strolled in balmy seventy-degree air snapping phone photos of glorious leaf colors. And what weirdness propelled my mission to Walmart's pharmacy?

The voice mail said only, "Noses. I'm not getting Libby." It had to be code.

© 2013-2016 Nancy L. Ruder

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