[Subterfuge Grocery: A Short Story]
Small town life was nothing like it was rumored to be. Sure, the eternal optimists tried to sugarcoat the fact that their lives were as boring as everyone else’s by labeling the monotonous and the mundane with “small town charm,” but that was like slapping lipstick on a pig and calling it a beauty queen. It was the same damn thing, the same damn people, and the same damn life around every same damn corner. Nothing was what it seemed; nothing was what people made it out to be. Ever. Sulfur Springs, Alabama, was no different from any other small town.
Sometimes, you got stuck behind a godforsaken tractor driving down the road at a mind-numbingly slow crawl of speed. You were just itching to pass the dumbass redneck. The steering wheel was gripped tightly as you veered across the median to see if you could, but you couldn’t. It was always the same damn thing: either a car was coming or there was a curve up ahead and you couldn’t tell if it was safe.