A cowboy resides in each of us, but most manage to tone it down to the occasional merry-go-round ride. However, there are those among us who have given into the urge. By day they appear to be ordinary members of the populace. Then, night comes and they go into a phone booth and emerge, Clark Kent-style, sporting chaps, spurs, and a ten-gallon hat. I was recently lucky enough to come into contact with one such man. Our meeting was brief but it still made an impression. He was buying his lunch at Whole Foods, but next to the sandwich and the drink were two bars of soap. They said "URBAN COWBOY" in "dusk" scent. In that moment I understood who he really is. He is a man of the wide-open spaces, or in D.C. terms wide-open traffic triangles. It's hidden, but it's still there, suppressed under his calm demeanor and plain polo shirt. It's there, quietly waiting until he can turn on the shower, reach for his bar of soap, take a good whiff, and remember who he truly is.
C'EST MA VIE
