Towards the end of Montana, Greyhound buses make a stop at Jaspers, the silliest fucking souvenir shop on the planet, a massive emporium of crap, the literal representation of the three wolf moon shirt. Indeed, there was an entire section dedicated to wolves. And a variety of eight or nine aquariums, all filled with trout. And a live, animatronic band. And a poster advertising the animatronic band above the urinals. And a greeting card rack, with one card in particular catching my interest and love: an image of a woman riding a Pegasus. It was in the “All Occasion” section. Frankly, I can’t think of a single occasion in which a woman riding a Pegasus wouldn’t be acceptable. It’s your birthday? Here’s a woman riding a Pegasus! Your dad died? Hope this helps!
The convenience store area (located next to the mini-casino, of course), featured countless foods that were huckleberry flavored. Grace tells me that this is, like, the huckleberry capital of the world. I told her that I didn’t know huckleberries were real things.
The weird thing about Grace is, in the months following the trip, I’ll remember her smell at complete random, like a backwards Proust. It wasn’t as bad as she looked, but it wasn’t humanly; I would just convince myself it’s the smell of cargo trains and hang onto it for a few seconds.
