At the car rental place, I’m surrounded by strange sights. Fanny pack wearing family men in hiking shorts and Tevas with socks; thick necked frat types with military haircuts, loose fitting Dockers and blue buttoned down work shirts; a woman wearing brightly colored Crocs, blouse neatly tucked into Levis and pearls.
The person at the counter is chatty, asking probing questions, ignoring my polite attempts not to answer.
I get into the car, and hear a song on the radio, a voice I’ve never heard singing a song I don’t know about pride in being American, supporting the troops and the American dream.
Driving down the street, it is lined on both sides as far as the eye can see with stars and stripes flapping in the wind.
Welcome back to America.