Out here, there is a growing restlessness. An unprecedented uneasiness; a tightening of the grip on the steering wheel; an unsettled tapping of fingers on coffee cups; a nervous running of hands through the hair. Palpable; visceral.
Out here, there is distrust. A wariness; a growing suspicion that fat men in blue suits who live 2,000 miles away are asleep at the switch; looking for a side door; for a soft landing when shit hits the fan. Collectively; secretly.
Out here, there is an unspoken understanding. Of promises that have been made and promises that must be kept.
And out here, patience is running thin.
Out here, western NE
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