Fire in wolf’s clothing.
“Sheep in wolf’s clothing.”
So I’m working at a little card table, in Ft. Worth, doing my bit, and trying to hustle a dollar or two. I’m liking the people, the grounds, the entire experience because, in part, it’s a place I’m familiar with, plus, I know most of the characters on hand.
That, and the aforementioned fact that Ft. Worth itself feels like a nice town, hippies and ropers, emo’s and cowboys, all blend seamlessly together.
Across from me, there were three women, and I’ve done readings for at least two of them and the third, a lovely, comely lass of expected proportions, I think we’ve met before. Consider that I’ve worked various fair circuits for over a decade, and sooner or later, I encounter a lot of people.
So it was an Aries (fire sign), a Leo (fire sign) and a Sagittarius (fire sign), three pretty women in a row. Two are married, one’s involved. I’ve got to stress the point, I’m not lusting, liking, leering, or anything else, just being nice.
At a dull moment in the afternoon, I wandered over, and we all talked shop and signs and stuff that was going on, and the fact that this wasn’t the first “metaphysical expo” next to a gun show. Or a horse and cattle show. (It was a first for me, but I sort of expected something akin to this.)
The three women, took to posturing in such a way, I’m not sure, I don’t know a lot about the female gender (interesting shapes, likes chocolate), but I got a very distinct impression I was getting the “Don’t flirt with me too much” with odd comments about husbands and children and boyfriends.
What I found a little odd, and gave me pause, I knew this ahead of time. I wasn’t even remotely thinking, feeling, looking, lusting like that. Not at all. I wasn’t in a prowler – growler mode. Just nice.
I was just trying to be nice.
A little later in the day, one of the promoters noted that I looked nice, but she’d only ever seen me in shorts.
“Kramer? All dressed like that? You clean up nice.”
Web to bricks and paper to web.
Two amusing thoughts.
First off, as I was meandering back along the old turnpike, I thought, maybe a half-dozen years back, there was a store out here, or there, and I made a pilgrimage to the store, only to be a little disappointed, it was just for specific computer peripherals, and the store – in the flesh – left me decidedly underwhelmed. I’d order from the website, but in person? The store wasn’t worth me pulling off the road.
The other part, as I was relating my preference to reading news online, I found an article, near and dear to the parents’ cars, as it was about how to make a Hybrid go further,
I found the article online, glanced at it, made a comment about it, and then found that the folks wanted to see it, so I had to leaf through a real newspaper, trying to found the article for them, as they’d missed the article, so far.
In some situations, I prefer the web, but I’ve been assured it’s a generational “thing.”
Whatever.
From Saturday morning
Random thoughts about Mercury, Texas, and the rest of ya’ll.
Seems like, and I was triggered by something Kinky said the other evening, the term “cowboy” no longer evokes a hero-like figure. Which the author was bemoaning, and he promised to do something about bringing back our titles to their original glory.
I spent some time wandering around Ft. Worth, maybe five years ago. Something about a girlfriend, a Virgo, and the idea that it’s bad to try and date a girl in Dallas and a girl in Ft. Worth at the same time. Which is why I live like monk, but that’s got nothing to do with the fact that I really do like the way Ft. Worth feels.
It’s weird.
The “Body Mind Soul Expo,” a gun show, and ranch products – all under one roof. There’s just something so right about stepping next door, the next convention hall over from us, and there’s row after row of saddles, some custom built, from a place in San Angelo (TX). The smell of the leather, that alone, worth a whiff.
A toughened, skinny lady goes walking by, her boots have spurs clinking. Or jangling. Sounded more like the gentle spurs, without the spikes. I think those really clink, not jangle like the songs suggest.
I’ve suggested it before, an item that I’m sure I picked up from a Ft. Worth propaganda piece, but it’s really true, this is where the West, the mythical West, begins.
It’s a good thing. Couple of observations, like the guy with the Las Vegas Harley shirt, and he was sporting a multi-color Mohawk. For real. Not far away? A more dapper attired (and to be honest, the attire ran towards boots, jeans and cowboy hats), with a 12-Gauge slunbg under an arm, “For Sale,” and details about the firearm.
