In the grocery store parking lot, I helped an obnoxiously patriotic old-man veteran of some dumb war or another (his clothes and his scooter were covered with every possible patch from military units; little American flags waved all over the place; he wore one of those funny hats with even more stickers, patches and pins) free his mobility scooter wheel from the raised edge of the hydraulic lift designed to gloriously lower him from his van, which in turn was festooned with way too many "I'm a veteran" stickers and logos. His service dog whined helplessly from inside. Later, inside the grocery store, America's "Horse With No Name" played over the subliminal Muzak machine where I purchased various snacks for tonight's New Year's Eve bacchanal.
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