Hmmm... I feel I need to expound on my previous post. After backing into the dock to be unloaded, I take note that there are three men working the area, all between 40 and 55. The oldest, and i believe the boss, is clearly native american, maybe fully so- small wonder in a town named Waseca. One is bald with a big dent in his head (i guess sometimes it does leave a mark) anyway, I'm thinkin German. The little guy is blonde and definitely of Norwegian descent. All over the walls are cheap pics of bad flea market indian art. Also much viking football shit. Also, nascar, hunting and Vegas crap. None of it worth a nickle. And, the oddest of all, a burl ives album- Decca- unsleeved. Obviously these three individuals spend much time pissing on the same tree. I ask the proud native american what waseca means. He says "haven't got a clue, not from around here." hmm. It's little wonder the gal from Holland is confused. They all have been friendly to me, probably would cook me breakfast if I asked. But they are cold and indifferent to each other. How fucked is that? Am i like that? I now wonder, and wonder why. ...And so it goes, in waseca anyway. And what of that B n W of the Mexican soldiers standing on the train? I didn't see any Mexicans? Probably hiding in the bathroom. We all know they're lazy sneaks, right? Yes, indeed, and so it goes everywhere.
