just ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ shoot me

Walking back out onto the asphalt I stand next to the diesel pump and feel the heat of Dixie below my feet. From about 75 yards away, down an over-grown embankment strewn with litter, a robust woman comes jogging out of a Waffle House and yells something at me. I look in her direction offering no response. She yells again, “Is that a vaaaaan or a buuuuus??” I continue to gape in her general direction completely confused by this question until it finally dawns on me to respond. “It’s a vaaaaaan,” I holler. She cups her hands around her mouth and shouts in a barely discernible drawl, “We were all of us inside tryin’ to figure out wut it wuuuuuuz.” My expressionless face betrays the mild disbelief behind my eyes. A million images flash after a pale gaze. What was that discourse inside the Waffle House? Why is this an issue? Who cares? What is the meaning of life? Why are some people lucky when others are born into endless despair?