Spend enough time in West Texas, I have, and it get curious.
I ordered a cool cup of coffee on a hot August afternoon, waiting for an opening. Finally, I just asked. He pointed to the front of the shirt, in graffitti script, he read, “Smell like something died.”
Amarillo. I asked. Then we commiserated that Lubbock, on the right afternoon, smells much worse.
I’ll admit that I always love my time in West Texas.
About the author:
Born and raised in a small town in East Texas, Kramer Wetzel spent years honing his craft in a trailer park in South Austin. He hates writing about himself in third person. More at KramerWetzel.com.
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