Dabbling in politics.

Days off here are like to days off in any port city of 7,464 where you are living in a tent and hungry.
. . . As always, I am writing in the moment and will not publish until a later time. there is no replacement for the flow of pen-in-hand kinetics, and the radio in the places i type these out distract.
A few days back we were met, returning to our campsite, with a friendly message from city of Kenai police officers k33 and k31 (very strange names indeed- possibly native). They were kind and and surprised when we called the number they had left and gave us advice and a few days to move. We had a site in mind, and hope to make the move in the afternoon. Tuesday, the day after a fish day. Needless too say, but i'll say it all the same, our spirits were down in the polls. Needing warm water, dry ground, and a clean mirror, we decided to try out one of Kenai's small-town-woman's-first-name-cafes. So now we sit- drinking coffee and tea and smelling Delicious home-cooked somethings that are currently out of our fiscal reach.

and in walks a woman and strait to us and does does the talking, asks questions and listens to the answers and we're talking to kenai's mayor and she says 'hey! I'll buy you dessert.' then calls an fisherman turned state-senator to ask his advice or leads for finding will and erik jobs and gives us his advice. 'Thanks' we say a couple times and then we're sitting by ourselves again and se was nice as lemmonaid and then will's in the bathroom and his phone rings and we answer and a russian gives him work and erik's on a boat now too. Neither from the senator, but my stomache was all turned around. maybe from all the coffee but probably from all the kindness and well, I guess this is the small-town america that so many people try to write down.

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