
Camelot.

Camelot.

Grain elevator. Top floor: men’s wear, lingerie, weevils, mice, rats.

Peeked behind the RX counter to catch Old Man Quimby secretly compounding the town’s headache powders out of old antelope antlers.

Set up a quick live trap to catch your polyester-slacked and bridge-addicted grandma.
“How’d the cow go today when we were chasing it? And, what’d you find in the chicken’s house?”
The Amphitheater is recording us all.