A glimpse of the old Fayetteville

I’m sitting on the steps of the Walton Arts Center to stay out of the rain while I wait for the bus. It’s a crappy, drizzly Monday morning, and it seems like everywhere I look, Dickson Street is covered in yuppie storefronts and lame college bars and shiny SUVs. But then, I see a slice of the old Fayetteville drive by in an old, beat-up Chevy pickup. It’s an older lesbian, hair cropped close to the skull, a pair of large glasses on her tanned face. The truck rattles by, its bumper too rusty to support a license plate, held together with bumper stickers demanding peace and ecology.

I want to wave to her, even though I don’t know her. She feels like an old friend – a part of my hometown in a way that these high-rise condos and new brick shopping centers will never be.