Greetings from I-10 somewhere in Western Texas, in the cut-out gullies and ditches of hills where the limestone is similar in geometry and colour to the road-kill deer we pass by the dozen. We’ve got dramatic skies and sunshafts lighting the scrub brush and cactus and 80 miles an hour is a most excellent speed limit when the scenery’s big. If I ever meet a woman who smells like this patch of desert with sun-baked dust mixing with hidden hibiscus and something sweet and unidentifiable, I’ll probably be done looking forever.
One patch of sun lifts canyon walls to incandescence, and I’m afraid we’re simply going to have to assume that a messiah is even now being birthed halfway up a yellow stone wall. Sigh, a new religion shall be born and I’ll be able to say “I was there!”
One lass and a not-so-wise man in a Saturn. No myrrh or frankenspice or whatever. away in a manger so wind-strewn and dusty, this messiah will be gifted with some Swiss francs, a stuffed bunny, and a decidedly secular ilyAIMY CD.
Random notes in passing:
“Junction” is a great name for a Texas town.
The Feed Mill in Johnson City looks like a really cool place to play. Wilson Phillips can bite my ass and Heather can stop singing along RIGHT NOW, but even Wilson Phillips are perhaps marginally preferable to listening to the static of West Texas, though I like the noise of the road.
We’ve passed a bison, a llama, and a camel.
Bison can be mistaken for lions from behind.
“Lively’s” is a very, very sick name for a taxidermy shop.
We’ve seen the most squished deer ever, completely two-dimensional minus one little sticky-uppy ear.
