A year ago I decided to go out West in search of the lone resident of Lost Springs, Wyoming. Two connecting flights and about 1000 highway miles later, I did indeed have the pleasure. He works in the city's only store, which doubles as the post office. Nevermind why one man needs a store and a post office--actually there is a glitch in the population count. There are in reality a whopping five residents in Lost Springs! When the census came a knockin', four of the five residents were out of town, according to my man, the shopkeeper. I failed to ask why the surveyed resident didn't mention the other 80% of the population to said census taker. Some people just want all the glory for themselves, I guess. Rounding out the leisure-time locales of Lost Springs are a park and a bar. All of the city structures face each other on a tiny, dusty, dead-end block that juts off a two-lane highway about an hour and a half East of Casper.
The resident I spoke with, who shall remain nameless (but if you look in the Lost Springs phone book, you've got a very good chance of figuring it out) told me about the history of the town. It did in fact have only one resident once: his mother, who still lives in town. Among the other residents are his brother and the woman who runs the bar. Looking back on it, there are so many questions I failed to ask, such as Does the town have a mayor? I had been driving for a while in the blistering heat and 48 hours previously had had an out of body experience and then gone camping at high elevation, so cut me some slack.
What I greatly appreciated about Lost Springs, besides everything, was that it had a healthy sense of self-irony. In the store were buttons and postcards reading, "Where the Hell is Lost Springs?" I was certainly not the only out-of-towner to come sniffing for the quirk and singularity. After I paid for the rusty 1959 Wyoming license plate now hanging in my kitchen, I bid him farewell and headed towards my car, at which point he followed me outside and said, "Hey can I ask you a question?" Pleonasm aside, I nodded. "Will you give me a kiss?" It was far from what I expected, although it really shouldn't have come as a surprise considering the limited amorous options in town.
As I drove away I was kicking myself for declining. I had broken my own golden rule: Do the thing that will make the best story later. Well, I do have a story and it's mine even if it doesn't end up with finding love in Lost Springs or some such. Normally I'm not one to quote Jesus, I mean I'm REALLY, really not, but I'm also not one to pass up an apposite aphorism: "Blessed are the solitary and elect."