Old as bedrock, back as straight as a mesa is flat, Nellie waits for the occasional travelers, ready to dispense the matter-of-fact wisdom that can only come from someone who's lived all her life on the edge of nowhere.
When she was a girl she wanted to travel, too--to see the new Queen crowned in England, to go to college beneath the impossible skyscrapers of New York, to become an actress in L.A. "It'll expand my mind," she insisted.
Her father laughed and told her to look out the window. "What do you see out there?"
"Exactly. How much more space to expand does your mind need?"
Her mother concurred. "Cities are dirty and crowded. No room to think there."
Her parents were right, as parents usually are.
"You're very lucky," Nellie tells the travelers. "There are no services for the next one-hundred miles."