Texas Roadhouse

I went out to eat at a Texas Roadhouse tonight.
And as I was sitting there I realized
I was eating in a factory restaurant.
They move people through there like hanging sides of beef,
or automobile chassis through the assembly plant.
And each person has their own little role,
the greeter, the seater, the waiter, the server(s).
And shortly after your food arrives, the "manager"
swings by, order printouts in hand, and asks "is everything all right do you need anything?"
Well, so, I answered "No" to the latter half of her run on question,
which gave her a pause . . . ." No, you don't have everything you need?"
"No, everything is alright, we don't NEED anything."

This dining experience has made me realize
I am glad I live in the mountains;
unpopulated, few services.
Muncie Indiana LITERALLY has one of every kind of factory restaurant and chain
that exists in this vast United States
(plus a dollar store and tanning salon on every corner and in every strip mall - go figure).
But a week here and I just want to recluse back to my mountain home.
Home, with its green trees, mountain horizons, grey white clouded blue skies.
Home, with its woods and wetlands and lakes and ponds.
Home, where we know everybody and everyone knows us,
where there may seem to be too many people, but THEY are all visitors, tourists, fly-throughs, and wanna-bes.

Home, where my heart is.

(on the road in Muncie IN)