Over this last weekend, the Street Vibrations Fall Festival was in Virginia City. The town is part of my news beat, so naturally, I spent a lot of my time there.
It amazes me to walk into one of the local saloons and find myself in conversation with strangers. In this case, it was several members of a Marine Corps motorcycle club.
As we sat jawing, one guy asked me what I did for a living. I explained that I write for the local newspaper, and he asked, “You mean the one Mark Twain wrote for?”
“No,” I said, “That paper is no longer in print, but I do work for the one that took its place.”
He immediately turned to the other members of the club and hollered, “Sam Clemen’s replacement is here.”
Perfect Marine humor.
To that, the entire bar burst out in laughter, and I turned beet-red. And when I thought my embarrassment couldn’t get any worse, someone in the back of the bar shouted, “You mean Foghorn Leghorn?”
Nowhere Nevada 
Oh man, the last comment was NOT needed! Mean, drunk dudes. Did you take the photo, Tom? Nice, the grayscale really sets it off. Do you not regularly chat with strangers? It’s great fun, my ex was from Anaheim. She wasn’t familiar with people who can talk so easily with strangers! It’s a fact in small-town Michigan.
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Down here the valley where I live, everyone is either masked up, six feet apart, or scurrying to avoid any type of contact. As for me, I’ve never known a stranger, but it does feel odd to talk to people I do not know and none of us are isolating.
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Hmmm, OK. People seem less afraid here. Example, at the store yesterday, a lady walked by me almost bumping shoulders. It’s business as usual except for the masks.
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Interesting that this phenomena is so regional.
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