Starbucks in my city are ubiquitous.
For a couple of bucks for fresh coffee I can mingle with tech savvy people who lean towards globalism, free healthcare for all, living wage checks from Uncle Sam, electric cars.
This morning, in my local Starbucks parking lot, a horned toad occupies a Toyota car hood waiting for his chauffeur to bring him a Frappe.
The truck has a locked security cover over its bed because Albuquerque is a “Breaking Bad ” city and wise people here lock their doors, always.
Crime, these days, is on all our lip’s but the conditions that breed crime here won’t be fixed soon. Crime was once a morality problem but it is now talked about as an economic/social problem. Our Mayor assures us that If we pump enough money towards our crime and homeless issues, and do better with rehabilitation, things will be hunky dory.
This little guy doesn’t nod at me as I go by. He reminds me of a green gecko I once glued to the hood of my painter’s truck, a synthetic stuccoed Mitsubishi ” Mighty Max. ” He reminds of the beautiful green gecko on the front porch screen door of my quarters in Ms. Sue’s Haiti Children’s Home.
Why, I keep wondering, do I keep running into the same things, the same people, the same ideas, in different places, across time?
I’m sure this horned toad has an answer, but this morning he doesn’t share it.
If a horned toad likes Frappes,though, I’m believing I should give them a try.
Trying to get through the day without coffee, for horned toads and humans, is fraught with disappointment.
Begun in 2014, Scotttreks is a rolladex of Scott’s time travels for those who remember what a rolladex looks like, what it was used for, how it was used, until computers sent them to antique auctions.
Hot on Scotttrek’s trail, I flip back to 2014, to Uruguay, to the beginning. Usually, things that make trips worth remembering and posting about, makes them look even better when I relive them.
In Scotttreks, little moments are everything.There is no crew to blame for screw ups, and, in President Truman’s famous words, ” The buck stops here. ”
Flipping through the last five years, like a kid eating cotton candy, it isn’t hard to see how travel,writing, and picture taking grabbed me.
Somewhere down this travel pipeline, I’ll get past putting things down on paper, leave my phone and computer at home, sip pina colada’s on a far away beach close to my little room in a modest local guesthouse feeding the landladies cats as the sun goes down into the ocean.
At my most favorite local cafe a dark skinned waitress will smile as she fills my coffee cup and suggests that I get back to writing and taking pretty pictures.
I will smile back and sweetly say, ” Tomorrow is the day. ”
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