Road Trip
Getting off to a weird start.
In Austin, a bona fide medicine man gave me a ride to the airport, Yellow Cab, of course. Only in Austin.
A flight attendant looked at me, “Hey, I know you….”
“Nope, bet you’ve never seen me before,” I replied.
“Coffee, black, riding in the hot tub?”
Busted.
Sister calls me while I’m at the airport, the folks call me, too, all worried that I can’t find my way around West Texas. I figure I know a little more about it than they do.
I was reading a purloined Wall Street Journal (I guess it’s not really [u>purloined[/u> if the apartment unit is vacant), looking like dapper business person. Never mind that the paper was a day out of date, I still found it amusing. Especially the article about the company that is losing so much money on the mobile home finance business. Imagine that, 1 out 25 mobile home owners run late on their payments. Just one of those interesting statistics. Or more useless data. Looking around at my friends, though, I can’t imagine that the data is much different from regular mortgages. Deal is, you can’t just back up to a regular “bricks and mortar” house, and tow it off to the used house lot. Not that I know anything about this sort of legal action myself.
Sitting in airports makes me chatty. I’ll be glad to pick up a rent car and fire up the CD player. I burned a copy of Wagner’s Zeigfried, the perfect accompaniment to hours of west Texas highway.
