More people came than they expected and they had to open up some of the pastures to use for parking lots. I knew all the cars meant there was no way I'd actually ever meet him and I shoulda turned around instead of staying in line and letting everyone's bumper stickers get me angry and hopeless. Someone waved me into a parking spot and I nodded. When I got out of my truck and saw all the hordes of people and their jeans and the way they talked I had to try hard not to hate them. But why can't they just wear normal jeans. If these're the people that wanna know him then I guess I don't. I squatted down and pulled up a clump of grass and lobbed it up in the air towards a car that looked like it wouldn't have a car alarm. It made a slow arc and landed on the roof and some chunks of dirt rolled down the windshield. I was right, there wasn't an alarm. In the little hollow of where the grass used to be I spat and spat until there was no more spit. My mouth was dry, it wasn't much. I mixed it into mud and smeared it across my eyes, rolled two little balls and poked them into my ears. I climbed into the bed of my truck and layed down in there on my back to let the mud dry and crack and crumble in the sun. I imagined I was wearing a t-shirt that said I CAN HEAL THIS SHIT MYSELF.