For Ritzer. For poorer.

The open road. The big sky.

It is a bright blue sky dotted with puffs of cloud. It’s about 90 degsF. We’re zooming east across Washington state through a gently undulating landscape.Out the window are golden acres of hay, hillsides of blue-green saltbush-like shrubs and lots of phone towers.

We need coffee.

At last, a truck strop.

Good grief, it is also a flyspeck town called Ritzville.

Look, and there is The Ritz, right there on the dusty roadside.

In we go.

Oh Ritz, poor Ritz. You have seen better days.

The Ritz has a neon sign in the window blinking “Open” but no sign of customers. There are some roadside fast food outlets. They look quiet, too.

We follow signs to the Historic District.

The houses are mixed, some abandoned and some tended. There’s a sleek golf course and a playground with kids hurtling down a water slide and into a pool.

Down the road it’s all very quiet. Almost deserted.

Beside a railway line stand massive yellow green silos.

There’s an utterly derelict building which proclaims itself as a Festival centre. Its use by date must have been half a century ago, so sway-backed and peeling it is.

I doubt it is worth restoring. A sight of grand days of the arts, once upon a time. One could weep. What happened?

The main street of this historic district has a quaint olde worlde charm. But it is all very, very quiet. Where are the people?

But, look at the grocery store. What a wonderful name for a shop. The last word in cheerful hope. Please come in. Someone?

We cruise around a little more. Ritzville is somewhere between a going concern and a ghost town.

Broad streets. Empty buildings. A Ritz Theatre? It is brightly painted.

It is definitely an agricultural rail town and it is out of season. Everyone, obviously, is at the little pool. There the little town sits beside the truck-rushing highway, its strident “Ritz” sign begging for attention from atop its giant pole.

If anyone stops, they will be able to buy fireworks. There’s a sort-of tent displaying July 4 fireworks with very patriotic names.

Artillery Combo Pack. First Strike. Undefeated. Heroes. Seal Team - Day Parachute. A lot of signs just say TNT. There’s a truck and a trailer beside the tent. The merchant must be having a snooze.

And, oh, yes. They certainly can get a coffee.

It turns out to be an excellent stop for coffee.

Incongruously, A tiny espresso stand sits there in the wilds of a deserted carpark. Inside, a vivacious young girl makes an excellent coffee in a neatly cluttered little world of muffins and cookies and coffee flavourings.

All alone in there, she is the hidden soul of unRitzy Ritzville.