I still remember the singer’s song. It was an “open-mic” affair, one evening, and the guy was obviously from the coastal bend area. The lyric, the refrain that stuck with me? “Thirty minutes from the coast and three minutes from hell….”
Not my sentiments, but an artful expression of longing, desire, and location.
Lulling: home to some of the earlier oil wells in Texas. Got a hysterical marker in the middle of town. The Gulf Coast, with the oil rigs anchored offshore. Texas: we ain’t very far from our mineral rights.
“The average cowboy is an excellent judge of horseflesh, only a fair judge of men, and a terrible judge of women, particularly ‘good women.'”
Larry McMurtry writing In a Narrow Grave (Albuquerque: UNM Press, 1968. p. 149.)
Ain’t nothing better than waking up to the cry of seagulls.
I asked the kid at the “front desk” for a dinner recommendation. “Try the wharf, good food.”
I asked if I could enter barefoot, “No, probably better wear sandals. Although, this is Port A, never can tell.”
