I was driving toward the herpetology conference when the evening and weather, dismissive of the intellectual as they always are, conspired to obscure the way. I paused at the first establishment which appeared both open and likely to have working wifi, which surprised me.
Not beause of the lack of customers; I anticipated that when I saw it to be a bookstore just large enough to prevent suspicions of a repurposed meat locker. Not on account of the shelves, at first glance, contained little but popular mysteries and fantasy epics popular during a period not indicated by "a couple years back," or the absence of functioning wifi. That it was open was the surprise. That is, open in the sense of existing as a business.
As for employees, it had one, a number I thought a trifle high. He happened to be a friendly man, Kirk Wentworth by name, who was able to describe the best route to the venue once I remembered part of its name, and soon I was underway again.
I am not a man accustomed to becoming lost solely because I check and recheck and 10 GOTO 20. Wishing to review my progress, I paused again at, this is a true tale, a newspaper stand by the roadside. It boasted a roof, to explain my choice.
A patron, the only one, thumbing through a magazine became interested in my mumbling, for I admit my sentiments did not permit a perfect dignified silence. I told him of the circumstances. He exclaimed at them. Kirk Wentworth, it seemed, had passed away some fifteen years earlier.
He therefore could not have known about certain construction projects which had altered the traffic situation. By contrast, the person to whom I was then speaking had died a mere eight years prior and accordingly was able to instruct me better. I arrived well in time. Several attendees shared similar incidents. We interpreted them as proof of the importance of the field of study which had captivated our mental energies.
Finis
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