I arrived in Telluride after two days on a bus and a 40-dollar ride from Ouray. I keep thinking to myself, "You ain't from around here, are you boy." Well, I guess not.
It may take me a few days to adjust to a town where the supermarket sells High Times at the point of purchase. It may take a few weeks to get used to having discussions about treasures exhumed from a "free box." I'm very unlikely to get comfortable with so many people on the mountain being able to outski me; and I'm in shock that half of this town can party me right under the table.
But I like it. And I'm adjusting. I'm skiing and it's not even Christmas. I'm drinking and it's not even noon. I'm spending big money and I don't even have a place to live. Ah, Telluride.
"Ya, everything's great, Mom. Couldn't be better." I'm rolling my toothpaste, the small chunk of deodorant falls out every time I take off the cap, and it seems financially impossible to make it another week to my next check; but hey! No time for pessimism— that's a real buzzkiller.
I've gotta be strong and go get another six-pack. I'll look Starvation right in the eye and crack a beer. I'll headbutt Hypothermia and belch in its face. I'll take that second and third job with pride so I can live in a place where everyone's happy as sin (!) and they all respect each other.
Boarders and skiers accept each other in full embrace. Shacks and mansions sit quietly together and enjoy the view. Deciduous and conifers hold hands in peaceful marches around the mountain.
"Everything's fine, Mom. I could use a little beer money, though."