Concession to Convention

Our public Lands, frequently managed by the Bureau of Land Management, are often in remote places where one can safely surmise that one has it to one's self. But I've seen postings by The Bureau where they warn that due to the potential proximity of others, nudity is not allowed. 

Like Paul Winer (deceased), I eschew clothing. Not for any principaled reason, but simply because I don't like the feel of cloth against my skin. 

Though there is little traffic in Kofa, any is some. In a concession to convention and a placatory nod to the BLM, I not only don underpants, but augment the concession with shorts...such as they are.

Crafted from long pants that've seen better days, they rip and tear as I squat, bend over and otherwise cavort about. 

Neighbor

Out he'ar on the Western Slope tharz nary a bush nor shrub tuh hide behind; yuh kin see 'em commin' from a LOOOOONg wayz off; there's plenty of room.

So, I was like, TOTALLY taken aback when the truck with loooooong trailer parked less than 300 feet away. Annoyance brewing, I watched as he unloaded a single horse.

It wasn't even 9:00 a.m. !!!

I slipped into muh boatshoes, donned my hat and strode over.

Bidding him "Mornin'," I inquired about his intended length of stay. "Just goin' fer a ride." he said. I noted the rifle in its scabbard.

"Well," I said, "I come out here for the peace & quiet and don't care to have neighbors." I did my best "AboooOOUT FAACE!" and trundled back.

Ten minutes later he was pulling out.

"Wait!!" I yelled. "Are you leaving?"

"Yes," he replied.

"Why?"

"I don't want to piss you off."

"THANKS!" and I waved jovially.

Conjectures have it common sense is on the wane.

Aftertought is better than none.