Should I say ladies and gentleman or dudes and darlin's.

Just kiddin'. I'll just start.

Our town's not so big.

That's alright.

The desert makes up the difference.

People think there's nothing out here.

That's because they're driving through it.

Different thing entirely.

I've driven through churches.

Doesn't mean I've attended.

Hold on.

Rocky.

Leave it alone.

Thank you. Mistook a roach for a cat.

Another Dispatch from Scott Evers. Read for you by Geezer III.

Need someone with a harmonica.

People ask me what this is.

The podcast.

The show.

The dispatches.

Whatever we're calling it this week.

I don't know.

That's the short answer.

The long answer's even less helpful.

It's cockeyed.

Rocky's cockeyed too.

[to dog] [quiet] Maybe that's why we get along.

Right girl?

Woogy woogy.

That’s what the queen said. To her dogs.

Funny thing.

Everybody wants categories.

Mystery.

Comedy.

Drama.

Politics.

Religion.

I spent ten minutes talking about a grandfather clock the other day and somehow ended up discussing human desire.

Didn't see that coming.

Happens all the time.

Phone.

Nope.

False alarm.

Thought that was Fred.

Where was I.

Ah.

The difficult part.

Explaining Dispatch.

Lisa thought I ought to record some of this.

Not Fred.

Not the dogs.

Me, apparently.

Which in retrospect feels like a suspicious recommendation.

Kids were grown.

Everybody headed off in different directions becoming themselves.

You know how it goes.

One day you're explaining why the moon follows the car.

Next thing you know they're explaining things to you.

So I started making these little recordings.

Mostly for them.

Audio postcards.

That's probably the closest description.

A note from wherever I happen to be standing.

Porch.

Garage.

Desert.

Prison parking lot.

[quiet] …not too often.

Kitchen.

Campfire.

House that doesn't quite feel right.

Actually.

That reminds me.

I was house-sitting for Pastor Greg recently.

Nice place.

Beautiful architecture.

Couldn't shake the feeling something was off.

Woke up and found a note beside the bed written in my own handwriting.

Didn't remember writing it.

Now that's an interesting way to begin a morning.

Not necessarily a good morning.

But an interesting one.

That's enough for a dispatch right there.

Funny thing.

Most of them begin that way.

Not with an answer.

With a question.

A strange sound.

A memory.

A bird.

A phone call.

Something small catches hold and before long we're discussing loneliness or parenthood or why people keep going.

You never really know.

That's part of the arrangement.

The people are real.

Fred's real.

Lauren's real.

Roxy's real.

The dogs are real.

The desert's real.

Though every now and then the desert behaves in a manner I'd describe as suspicious.

The stories are true.

Mostly.

Memory's involved.

You know how that goes.

I suppose if there's a point to any of it, it's company.

That's what Fred says anyway.

Actually Fred says it's a podcast.

But he's wrong about lots of things.

Don't tell him I said that.

...

The endings are my favorite part.

Most folks miss them.

Talking stops.

World keeps going.

Crickets.

Wind.

Distant traffic.

Somebody's dog.

A screen door somewhere.

Planet carrying on with its business.

Marvelous thing.

So that's the arrangement.

A chair at the table.

A little conversation.

A cockeyed view of the world.

Usually around eight minutes.

Depending on how distracted I get.

If you decide to stick around, you're welcome here.

Beginning's always a good place to start.

...

Come on, Rock.

Let's go see what's making that noise.

...

...

...

What was I supposed to remember.

…

Never mind.

Ah. I forgot to tell them to poke the follow button.

There.

Lisa would've remembered.
…
There.
…
Just like that.…