Dryden wasn’t quite a ghost town. Yet. Boarded up cafes. Closed gas station. What might once have been a small motel. Just two stores, of sorts, remaining. The first reminded me of Eastern Europe. Shelves with just a few tins. A man huddling besides a portable stove. Small hungry looking dog for company. Behind the counter a camp bed. There’d once been a cafe inside.
Across the street another shop. Sweet smell of hay bales stacked up outside. Inside stock on the shelves. Hesitated for a while. Wanted a decent lunch but didn’t want the expense of lots of ingredients that might go to waste. Settling eventually for a tin of Spam and some Ritz crackers. Eating half contents, the remainder for dinner that evening. Mixed with some instant mash. Culinary splendor.
