Last Saturday evening, after spending all day on the road, I ended up in the small town of Diamond, Missouri. It didn't take me long to realize that the name of the town does not match the attitude of
the people in that pissant part of the United States Universe. That community shouldn't be called
Diamond, it should be labeled "Damnation."
After sitting on my pack, on the side of the highway, as the sun set behind me, for about 30 minutes...
...that town showed one of the worst facets of its own bad jewel.
And that bad chip off of the ugly gem is a cop with too little dignity and too many donuts under
his service belt. In fact, that fat boy never even stepped out of his cruiser...when he conversed with
He first tried to tell me that it is illegal to hitchhike in Missouri. That's a lie. He then allowed some
local punks to pull up in a P.O.S. car behind him and listen to every word that the cop and I said
to each other. He asked me for my Social Security number, I wrote it down so that the punks
wouldn't hear it...and then repeated it into a mic in a loud tone of voice. Finally, the idiot told me
to hunker down in a twenty-four hour laundromat, located across the street...and that laundromat
has no facilities. So, late that night, I had to walk up and down a hill, in the dark, to get to a rest-
room. That highway barely has a shoulder and I had no flashlight.
The girls at the convenience store were obnoxious and rude.
The next day, on Sunday, I walked out of town and planted myself near the spot that is pictured
in the above photograph. I ended up staying there for seven and a half hours before anyone
stopped and offered me a ride.
Finally, an elderly couple picked me up and drove me back to the city of Nevada,
From there I scored a Domino's pizza and a cool and very comfortable motel room.
The moral of this story?
Look for the diamond in people's hearts and not on a town's sign.