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Cowboys and aliens

It was a seventeen hour long uneventful ride by Greyhound bus to get to Roswell, swapping at Amarillo, Texas.  The only noteworthy thing was a group of Baptists at the station going round praying for people.  They asked me if they could pray for me.  I don’t believe praying for anything alters the chance of it happening, but it’s all well-meaning so I said yes they could.  It’s not the kind of thing that’s likely to happen to you back in England, so when in Texas do as the Texans do.

What I’ve seen of New Mexico so far has all been flat, brown and rather uninspiring.  The main crop I saw on the way down was miles upon miles of wind turbines.  Gary met me at the bus station.  There was a French couple here when I first arrived, but since they left it’s just us two.  Gary’s cool, an old firefighter who’s now retired and drifting from one state to the other.  He’s got the old school cowboy moustache, likes country and western and comes from a republican family, but is much more liberal..  I’ve come to think of him as the ‘liberal redneck’ (also the name of a comedian, check it out).
The house and the two llamas, six goats, four cats, eleven chickens and two ducks we’re caring for belong to Karen. She left a couple of weeks back in protest of Trump becoming president and is now travelling India.
It’s a nice house, no central heating but it has a wood fire that’s currently burning.  And pictures and figures of dragons everywhere, the more I look the more I see.  And a very extensive library of sci-fi, astronomy and UFO related material.  There’s not a lot to do around the place other than feeding the animals, so I’ve been looking around the place for work in between wasting my time reading the news on my phone.  So far I’ve built up the compost area, dug over the vegetable bed, swept up the goat droppings, chopped some firewood and cleared the area of old rusty nails with a magnet.
Every day at 4 we have Happy hour where we drink whisky and coke and have homemade crackers.  Tuesday we went out for Taco Tuesday at a local restaurant.  90 cent tacos and fried ice cream!

Roswell is a sprawling town six miles from our house with no clearly defined centre and is of course famous for just one thing.  ‘The best thing that never happened to Roswell’ as Gary and I have termed it; the stories of the crash back in 1947 haven’t done the town any harm.  I may be a sceptic, but that didn’t stop me biking to the ‘International UFO museum and research centre’.  Oddly enough there are no genuine artefacts from the crash!  Gary tells me Karen has also worked as a journalist and interviewed some of the people who claim to have seen the crashed spaceship.

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