After the sunny drive on lonesome roads, I turned toward Route One, the oldest American N-S highway. There's a mall, with a Taco Bell, and if you don't mind the park and walk, a mini-Starbuck's inside the Barnes n Noble bookstore. Here in the small towns, it's a rare thing to find a coffee house, especially a Starbuck's. This is highly unusual for me, coming from Southern California. In Los Angeles you couldn't get away from them. Here, I only know of one Starbuck's in Sharon, MA. Imagine not having a cafe or coffee house ANYWHERE nearby? It is for that reason, primarily, that I decided to drive-thru at McDonald's and get some french fries.

I turn off Route One and into the drive-thru lanes, pull up to the first speaker, and order a large french fry order which I plan to eat in the parking lot, while listening to a great tape in the car. (Soundtrack to 'O Brother, Where Art Thou?'). With the business transaction completed, I park in front of the manicured "garden" of McDonald's and watch squirrels at play. They are very frisky. One particularly determined squirrel leaps up onto the trash can in front of the car and stares me down as I place the first few fries in my mouth. I see into his personality at once. He wants my fries, and he will leap into the open window of the car if I don't close it at once. Keeping my suburban wits about me, I close the window. I do not feed the squirrel, as my aunt in Rhode Island might do.

A few beats. Watching each other.... But the squirrel ducks into the trashcan lid and slides down INTO THE DEPTHS OF THE CAN! He does this with such certainty and bold sarcasm that I am forced to renew my respect for the training and survival skills of the McDonald's squirrel. I am temporarily stunned, but now have a new thought: what if the guy made a mistake? What if this was the final act of a squirrel with too much bravado? How will he climb out of the trash can? What about that plastic Hefty bag lining the cement hole he's fallen into? The music plays one more early country song about lonesome Death. I eat my fries. And the squirrel reappears, drooping a little, his bushy tail soggy with -- what? Coke? -- but resolute and self-satisfied. He lives to scavenge some more around the garden. I watch him take off toward the next trashcan. As for me, I put the car into reverse, maneuver round the parked cars, and head out for the next encounter.