South of Mason Dixon and North of Farmers Market

The cracks are too numerous to skip them as a child would. To attempt would be feeble and your poor mothers back would be broken in half a city block. Oscar and I mind less for the practice and walk along the city streets unhindered by superstition. Passing along the road, the world seems humored by the site of a fuzzy haired young man and his wiener dog going for an evening stroll. The hardest of faces are broken into a slighted smile as Oscar looks up to inspect them.

Rosy walk lights give way the passing of cars and the crowd that gather quickly focus on the little dog. My little pooch is the city example of a cactus, soaking up the monsoon rain of attention. In a town that neglects to share a smile and attention he soaks it in savoring what is surely a rare occurrence. There are times where small children and grown captains of industry forget their steady pace and the change of walk allowance as they pet behind his ears. There is such starvation of emotion that they expend it on the little hound.

My little ambassador, he spreads the glee of his owner that is hidden behind the 2 day old shave and iPod headphones. Like all good sheep, I meld into the exterior of this town and hide behind nothingness. It is easier to deny the existence of my smiles and laughter than to standout like the monuments speckled across the horizon of DC.

South of the Mason Dixon line doesn’t insinuate that friendless is prepackaged and delivered upon birth. There is the distinct possibility that in the small towns of Southern Culture there is a young man writing of his exterior. He forces the smiles and handshakes in order to fit in, for he lacks the ability to be what he truly is…a loner.

Associating location and proximity to personaility is a disservice to all those who fail to fit the mold. I can freely accept that not everyone is willing to shed their soul at the Wal-Mart in town and not everyone is a cold hearted robot. Joe Plumber may posses the same uncertaintiy in people as does Charlie Corporate. To distill human emotions to such buckets is a disgusting practice in what amounts to fallacy. The complexity of the human eye is nowhere near comperative to the complexity of the human emotion.