Post-Morden Juke Box Experiences

There are time capsules in the rural Mid-West, not retro constructs, but temporal dislocations that remain as was, for lack of a reason to be other. Small town restaurants are steeped in a comfortable inertia; diners serve all broasted, broiled and breaded everything. Amish noodles nestle in thick white bowls. There are still drive-in movies where movies once missed can be missed again. We have bars where the jukebox is not a junk box but a wood and chrome depository for long archived selections. Beer here is brewed as brawny as rolled-up forearms. We’re futuristic in a plaid and dilatory way. We are post-modern Jetson reruns, we dwell just West of the middle of tomorrow.