Along the way, I stop in a small village for a coffee and a cigarette. There is a western decor inside around a bison theme. A giant stuffed head that “looks real” is mounted onto the wall. Near the exit, I notice a kind of big box made to serve as a place where “used flags” can be dropped off. There is a sign that specifies that they will be later incinerated with dignity. A lady addresses me with empathy when she sees me smoking outside, “We don’t have any rights left to do anything!“… I am not too sure why her comments comes across a little right wing to me.
I decide to pick up a hitchhiker. He smells a little funny. Must be in his late fifties, he’s a bit rough looking. He just buried his mother in Detroit and is on his way back to Tennessee. He’s painter and does not talk much. Thanks to him, I will meet and film a lady who knew Elvis and eats insipid things alone in her kitchen because of the medical procedure she just had done.