Pew to Parting

Adair’s mother and father accompany her to the Greyhound Bus Station, there in their little Nebraska town, where it occupies a suspiciously central place.

Nebraska is great horse country– good God, you can go anywhere “intrastate” without hurting the hooves of the horse, or getting squeamish. By squeamish is meant, getting gorged. Adair could have gone by horseback to the Greyhound Bus Station, with her mother and father also on horseback. It would have been better.

There was no hitching rail outside the Bus Station, and the Bus Station, what can we say about it? It was not a saloon, or a salon, but you could rustle up a cup of java, kaffis, cocao-piff [puff] to sip, as bitter as a hyssop, the comings, the goings, the ringside seat to your daughter blowing, blowing in the wind, a woodwind, a saz sax sad sack, her baggage, including the teddy bear the two of you gave her for that one Christmas where you wished it would stop snowing, and be a little less white.

The station ain’t half bad. Folks in these parts knew the seats in the station didn’t just look like pews– they were pews!