I remember travelling cross country with two of my friends in a tercel with no A/C
we ended up in a town near the grand canyon in the middle of the night looking for some solarcaine for the dfriver who had left his window open and turned bright red.
We had downed the last of our acid after finding a cheap motel room--made even cheaper by the fact the the owner had lost the key to the door and offered a cut rate if I would kick the door in.
So I did.
We started walking looking for a place to get some sunburn spray and saw a light in the distance.
The sign turned out to be for a place called Bob's Guns and Booze.
And that is exactly what this place sold.
Picture a relatively large store laid out with a line of glass refirgeration cases at the back stoacked with beer and hard liqour, rack upon rack of ammo...and glass cases at the front by the register with the newest kind of personal armaments going on. All under this wonderful monotone florescent light.
Along the far wall were about a hundred polaroid pictures. Polaroids of children--i shit you not--like eight--ten --seven --all holding a gun in one hand--and the carcass of the first thing they killed in the other.
Debbie--age nine--rabbit--Terry age ten--mule deer-- written in black magic marker under the photo.
We asked who we took to be Bob if there was a drugstore anywhere abouts--
He took a swig of his Jack Daniels--from the bottle and began to laugh--
" Boys, you are deep deep in arizona--hell our hospital closes at 10."
But Bob's is open. Bob's is always open.