Usually, when I roam the streets of downtown Asheville in the evening, it’s with friends. (And smartly so.) But tonight, I ambled down the sidewalks with only my computer bag in tow, and I was struck once again by how cliche, annoying, sickeningly trendy unique this town is. It’s almost as if when my guard is up, my eyes are more open, and I notice more interesting aspects of the town. I may let eye-contact with strangers linger a little less, but I’m doubly aware of their gaze when I’m on my own.
And when I’m by myself, my mind is in tune with my surroundings and I find myself asking Asheville: WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS.
Asheville, why?! Why the hippie hub. Why the gypsy rest stop. Why so much body odor?! What IS it about this place. In other cities, I worry about being snatched by pimps but in Asheville, I worry about being kidnapped by witches! It’s true. Although realistically, I’m more likely to die from some sort of unique but deadly fungus transmitted to my coffee cup from my un-bathed barista.
Asheville, you’re that weird friend we are all fascinated by, yet always keep our distance from. You smell. You look funny. You sometimes seem a little bogus. But oh, how you interest us with your oddities. Other people talk about you, and we go “OH YEAH! Asheville! I know her! Yeah, she’s weeeeeeeird.”
I waited twenty minutes in a line on the sidewalk to get into The Chocolate Lounge. Then, I paid five dollars for a chai. It was an okay chai. But I’m sure the five-dollar bill, with a little cinnamon on top, would have tasted just as good. I’m not complaining! Really. I’m not.
I paid for more than a chai. I paid for a people watching venue, writing material, and a new perspective on hemp as a clothing medium. This town is crazy. And I won’t end by saying “but it’s my town and I love it.” Because…
I don’t. In fact, I’m a little wigged out by it. And that’s the end of this post because I have to hustle back to my parking garage before it gets dark and the woobly wibbies come out to get me.
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