How long does it take culture shock to wear off? I wonder for the one hundred and thirty-ninth time since we left New York, this time from the checkout line at Target. The woman in front of me, checking out at the register, appears to represent the seventies both in age and era: she waits until her items are totaled and only then reaches into her Dooney and Bourke purse, pulls out the matching checkbook case, and proceeds to write a check. Using the ultramodern credit card scanner as a rest, she painstakingly writes out her total and signs her name. I imagine her adding, in the “For” column, a description: “groceries for the week.” Then? She flips to her ledger and enters the check for her records. Five full minutes later, her check is processed and she and her cart are headed toward the door. And I am pulling up to the register, scanning my Amex, and wondering how the hell I ended up here.

It’s Part Two of my novel, The Growing Season–read more over at The Wheelhouse Review!