Life in Brooksville was dull. It just was. That's all it ever had been, and all people ever assumed it to be. The people of Brooksville were polite, and well mannered enough, but shy and kept to them selves most of the time. The buildings were old, on the verge of being classified as dilapidated, and the overall appearance of the place was just tired. Farms were just country land, nothing anyone ever looked twice at, and the people traveling through the town would become tired and bored with the lonely, grey fields.
Brooksville was small, most of it just farmland, and most of the farmland only several acres. If one was traveling through, it would only be a mere 20 or so minute drive from one end to the other, and not even that if they were going a slightly unreasonable speed limit (which in vast country such as this most people did). However even these cars, zipping along at 60 or 70, seemed to be meandering along at a steady, but long, slow, tired pace.
Among these types of observations were the thoughts of Mr. John Hadely, who was an often guest in the dreary town of Brooksville. The white farm houses, washed out by the sun into a weak grey, just like everything else in the town, were familiar landmarks to him. However Mr. Hadely was just a mere passerby, a tiptoe through the undisturbed path, a silent whisper on the wind. Mr John Hadley was not, as though it may seem, a slip of a man, one that was forgotten easily. Oh no, he was quite the character, and would put on a show when in the spotlight. Unfortunately traveling the short distance through Brooksville was quite a draining experience, though short, it was quite draining. Just like that, it could take the liveliness out of a young soul, and replace it with that of a weary traveler, who has seen all sides, good and evil, of the earth.
John Hadley had found himself seated in another car, off to another dinner party, located just 10 miles past Brooksville, in a nice, secluded, private little plot in the woods. The Mylock Estate it was, a large, modern place, and yet it always managed to seem out dated, in a pleasant sort of way. It was one of the many mansions and manors located out in this spot, becoming quite an attractive little collection of party houses. John had been to several before, as priorly mentioned, he was quite an enjoyable man, and had become one of the regular guests at these social gatherings. Organized mainly by the Edwards and the Mylocks, two very large families, who lived to entertain it seemed. Always bustling about, searching frantically almost, for a drink to refill or an error to fix. John knew Richard Edwards from the University, and they had stayed in close contact through the years. The Mylocks were a close friend of the Edwards, and thus, John was aquatinted with them at one of the many gatherings he attended. John grew bored of these gatherings, and often wished for a more purposeful event, rather than making pleasant, polite conversation of politics, middle eastern affairs and war strategy, none of which he could, nor desired to relate to. Brooksville seemed to be the place he reflected on all these thoughts, as his final destination grew nearer and nearer, the dull simplicity of Brooksville seemed to cleanse him before plunging into the adventure of the party life.
His small car puttered along on the silent road through town. While Brooksville was mostly farms, there was the exception of the small town square, including only the absolute necessary of shops. A small grocery, a worn down church, a hardware shop and post office, among others. John was in the center of town at this point, about half way through Brooksville, when his eye was caught by a small cafe, the only leisurely sort of place in the entirety of the town. It was not large, if fact, it was rather insignificant in size, but it seemed to have a homely glow about it, sort of familiar, like a place one might have spent many afternoons as a child. John had never noticed it before, and had a sudden inclination to enjoy himself there, and he would, granted he went in, but he would enjoy himself there much more than at a dinner party. And so he went. Drew himself up as he stepped into the air of Brooksville for the first time, his feet planted on the slick sidewalk with a type of dignity only a foreigner to Brooksville could have.
