I live near a country crossroad which has been the site of several unsuccessful little diners attached to a convenience store. It’s one of those death spots (perhaps over an Indian burial mound or some other cursed land) that seems to suck the life out of any business. The newest incarnation is the Corner Stop Grill, which opened yesterday. (The more realistic name, “Soon-to-Fail Grill,” might put off potential customers. Perhaps they could European-ize the name: Szündeféle Grille.)
I rode up there today as a neighborly gesture, and had a grilled cheese accompanied by the NASCAR soundtrack on the TV. The owners are nice folks; we talked motorcycles a bit, and I wished them luck.
I ran my Saturday errands and took the long way home. The way the roads curve, the visible sky at the end of each of curve changed from clear blue with a hint of hazy sunset to threatening dark gray, and back again. Empty threats of rain are a constant tease these days, even accompanied by pointless thunder. What we’d give for a good gully-washer to clean the air and water the parched lawns.
The sky lied, and so we wait in summer quiet, with only a soundtrack of katydids and tree frogs.