Seems I always arrive in Sunnyside in the dead of night, when it's terrifying. Once with a bent bumper in search of a mad cow. Once with an assignment to enter a tough bar and drink a Mad Cow (Tequila, 151-proof rum, Kahlúa, a splash of milk, and a pink straw). And then, late last night, with a plan to sleep a few hours before going to see an alleged mad ranter.
I spent a good part of last night (when I wasn't listening for the footsteps of Dick Hickock and Perry Smith) wondering why I'd become such a wimp about remote rural towns at night, and then I remembered the above, which is another way of saying I remembered the fear wasn't new; rolling into a rural place after dark has always and forever scared the shit out of me. From my journey to the pink straw:
My traveling companion, Ryan, agreed that there is something inherently unnerving about arriving in a remote rural town at night, even one colored blue on voting maps. "There's so much invisible space," he said. "Which means there's so much possibility for crime."And so few witnesses, I thought.
Now, morning light and remote rural towns—totally different. Sure, no one's there to hear you scream. That's the same. But at least you can see what's coming.