Part of exploration requires the right partner in crime. While it wasn’t really crime, it was amusing. Top down on the car, cruising along San Antonio’s highways and by-ways, what happens with this combination?

C’mon, man, telling someone from Lockhart that you want to eat BBQ someplace else? That’s like going to Canada for Mexican food. Just wrong.

The image is Mr. AstroWhore dot org. Bubba to me, Sean to others.

There was a large, larger than Sean, gentleman of clearly Latin origin. At that place. Double-X Large T-shirt, one word on the front, “Irish.” That frozen thing, it makes my head hurt to think about it, but it’s a frozen Jack and coke. I suspect the Jack isn’t frozen.

Sean’s “filter” mechanism tends to go away, and whatever pops in his head rolls right out. Sometimes. I was pointing out how I liked the cultural incongruities. He almost said something about a “big Mexican.”

No cultural boundaries were really crossed in this entry. Or that afternoon. What helped, though? BBQ.

Southside BBQ.

Hey, this is good.

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