Revisiting Kountry Korner
Years ago I would drive past a small, standalone cafe called the Kountry Korner a couple times a month. It was in the middle of nowhere, nothing but the grain silos to break up the skyline. I never stopped. Sure, I would have liked a cup of coffee or some biscuits and gravy from time to time while passing by, but I couldn't abide the KK. Why not use C's? You'd achieve the same alliteration on your sign, plus it'd be spelled correctly. These days, I find myself jogging on the treadmill or pedaling home late at night thinking about that sign, and more than anything, it bothers me that I still think about it. Not that I think about it often, but any thought more than none that's devoted to the KK is too much. On an unrelated note, if you're like me and enjoy the "news of the weird" section of the newspaper, don't be too harsh in your judgment if you ever read about a lunatic running over the Kountry Korner with a stolen bulldozer.
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