Main Street
Two and a half hours later the moving van pulled off of the highway. The small faded sign with an arrow pointing right at the end of the off-ramp said "Brownsville, population 1,131". They took a right onto Main Street and Kay was both eager and apprehensive to look out the window to see the town for the first time. They passed a small general store, a gas station, and a bar that had a sign on the door that said: "no arm wrestling allowed". When I arrived a few hours later Kay was in the backyard scanning all the treetops, looking for me with a worried look in her eye. I can fly up to 40 miles an hour and could have been there sooner but I took my time following her to Brownsville. Had I known she would have been so worried, I wouldn't have stopped for lunch and wandered around. "Are you ok?" I asked. "I don't think so" she replied. "Out of the 1,131 people that live here, how many do you think arm wrestle at that bar on Main Street? I don't think I belong here, Eli. I've never even dreamed about arm wrestling."