Jeffrey Ransdell

The flat Midwest, no one knows exactly where it is.  Land of my home, the ill defined states around the edges fight to be in or fight to be out, mostly depending on road use taxes or other Federal Funds - use Form 12581 to submit. Ohio, Nebraska, Michigan, a few others, no one really knows, but they are often the belligerents.

People on the coasts, relatively sure the Midwest is the Sahara of the US where a few nomadic tribes have accidentally grown large enough to form what in ignorance are called cities where nothing happens, they wonder if less farming would control this, help shrink the problem and maybe shorten the flight from JFK to LAX.

The man unexpectedly burst from the building, exiting just as I was to enter, a man with a full grey beard that would certainly be noticed by all if he were to shave it off one day out of the blue, he said “Howdy”.  As custom dictates I said “Howdy”.  We smiled because it’s easy to be polite as there is nothing else in the Sahara except corn. 

Or maybe soybeans.