Just the other evening, a hot one by the way, I decided to take a later than normal run downtown. It was around 80 degrees at 10 o'clock that night, which is sweltering for May in Southern Indiana. We were seeing global warming at it's ugliest. (Sarcasm seems to be one of my stronger qualities.)
After circling for the perfect place to park, I landed near the old Perry and Davis Drugstore on Main Street. My mind hangs onto the old names of some of these business like a toddler hangs onto his security blanket. The new name, relatively speaking, of the drugstore escapes me. I can still look in the window and see Grandma Burnside sitting with my brother and I at the soda fountain. Yes, one of those old style soda fountains with a jerk working behind it. For a special treat, grandma would get us a cherry Coke, a Coke with a squirt of cherry in it. Great stuff! This was before you could get cherry Coke just about anywhere. It would be nice to sit there one more time with her and talk about important little boy things.
| Hinkle's, a fixture on Main Street. Famous for the Hinkle Burger. |
It has been my observation that women must be the best judges of character. Imagine a young lady out by herself for a run at night. She looks up the sidewalk and here comes a crazed looking overweight man, shuffling towards her at a steady pace. His hair is out of place, white spittle clings to the corners of his mouth and there is a wheezing sound coming from the depths of his chest. She must in just a few moments decide whether this is a reject from the Manson family or is this a runner wannabe. Thankfully, most women size me up as a runner! "Yes, I am a runner." I nod my head, while her glaze is fixed forward. She repeats like a mantra in her mind, if I don't acknowledge this lunatic, maybe he will just keep on running into the night. I keep running into the night. You have to love Main Street on a hot night in May.