BARBECUE
After church on Sunday my church women friends that I go out to lunch with decided to go to Black Mountain for barbecue. After that I sorted books in my old locker. I sorted ten milk boxes of books, my limit. There are 60 boxes left, six more sessions and a lifetime of hoarding books will be over.
What I intended to do next was to attend a No Kings rally in Asheville as a counter to Trump’s brutal cage fight on the White House lawn. But I couldn’t find a protest on line in Asheville. There was a watch party in the center of Asheville at 5:30 to watch a TV performance by a number of well known singers. But I was tuckered out and couldn’t wait in Asheville that long, so as a complete failure as as protester I came back to Marshall and watched the San Antonio Spurs lose a heartbreaker to the New York Knicks. There was jubilation in New York, while I felt deflated and crushed and left wondering why New Yorkers were so ecstatic over the ability of hired players, probably none of them native New Yorkers, to throw a ball through a metal hoop and even more incredulous that I was suddenly so enamored of 7’4” Wembanyama from France, the outstanding Spurs player, after only discovering him three weeks earlier.
BILLYBABA’S WANDERING 