Gone Fishin’

I sometimes forget that I live in such a redneck, hillbilly, back-woods (minus the woods), yet sophisticated place. The variety can be astounding around this area. Cowboy boots and skater shoes, 8-inch stilettos and spurs, cowboy hats and mohawks. All of these are around me all the time. However, I was reminded the other day just how redneck I may be, and how much more redneck of an area I live in.

It was raining so this is the view from my car.

I like fishing. Sitting in a chair, beer in my hand, talking once in a while with a good companion. Maybe catching a fish or two. But I have NEVER seen a vending machine for bait. And there is a variety to choose from. It was hooked up to a coolant to keep the night crawlers from drying out, and available for 24 hour convenience. That is important because since traveling through this town quite a bit, I’ve noticed that everything closes at 9 p.m.

No grocery store, no convenience store, but probably a bar. But the gas pumps are self-serve so if in a pinch it’ll get you down the road.

As for entrepreneurs, remember that for every idea there had to be some kind of demand in the first place. They wanted bait, ya’ll.