“You’re wanted by the police and my wife thinks you’re dead…”
It’s a lick from a Junior Brown song. No link. I’m on the road, supposedly headed out to fish. We’ll see how that works, weather and all.
Almost made it completely through the last Mercury Retrograde totally unscathed. Almost. Headed down towards the coast, lordy-lordy South Texas is pretty after some rain.
Got an image on my phone, can’t do anything with it since it was taken while blazing past a spot, Peggy (TX), on the highway, just before Corpus Christi. There’s a single flag, huge flag, must be 50 or 100 feet just along one seam, the Lone Star. Flapping lazily in the coastal prairie breeze.
Big and proud. Southern end of the Eagle Ford Shale strip, be my guess. Stopped in a gas station, and there’s a long line of working men, work boots, work jeans, mostly speaking spanish, hard men. Roughnecks.
That flag flaps loudly overhead, and in the boom-town economics of the South Texas oil (gas) renewal, there’s a place for hard-working men.
It was the flag, though, that struck me as a statement. I’m not sure what. Big flag, tall and proud. Just the one, a Lone Star. Nothing else.
The rental, they had me checking on Friday and there was a bit of a mistake, and me, without my usual on-time, on-line computer with a whiz-bang connection, I couldn’t say, “Here, here’s my confirmation number.”
“Yeah, yessir, we have you checking in tomorrow.”
Almost made it through unscathed.