Fifty

Years ago while en route from Los Angeles to Denver I slipped up on US 50, the Loneliest Road In The USA. Some 600 miles shy of my destination I rolled into Pucker Brush, Nevada (population 2) for fuel and lunch, in that order.

Finished, I headed back for my truck when from up in the air I heard a dog growl.

There, atop a lamppost perched a raven growling for lunch. I could have ignored him, but his plea would have haunted me all the way to Denver, so I went back in and ordered him a bag of fries.

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