I am definitely in Arkansas

A man just knocked on my door. I opened it up to see a stranger dressed in jeans and boots offering to sell me meat. "You want to look at the steaks in my truck?" he asked in a thick, country accent. "It's really fresh. I just got some leftover. Just thought I'd see if you wanted to buy some steak. It's out in the truck..." What?! Even if I was the least bit tempted (I do love a good steak!), this is a strange man, knocking on my door, selling steak out of his truck. I now have images of "fresh" bloody slabs of meat laying in the back of his F150--not appetizing. "I don't think so," I answered. Then he said, "Do I know you? You look really familiar... (as he's looking at our cute little wooden name sign hanging out front--I'll now consider taking that down...) "Maybe I've just seen you at Wal-Mart," he concluded. (Which is probably true--since Wal-mart is like the social center of our town. But that sounds pathetic when it's actually a reasonable conclusion to why one would recognize strangers.) "Sure you don't want some steak?" he offered one last time. I refused his generous offer, one more time. I had to be polite about it though, because I might see him at Wal-Mart later on today.