Texas Decadence

Saturday, Austin way, barbecued-hill-country.

Beeped your friend Chris and no response. Carlos and his "girlfriend" drove Randy and I into hill country. Beef brisket & hot sauce and bread and barbecue & pepper & more hot sauce. You cannot have enough.

Randy brought me reusable peppers & seeds. This happened earlier.

The brisket was deliciously unhealthy and we ate enough of it for the stuff to become our only meal that day. That is, except for the gyros.

The "girlfriend" is in love with Carlos. This can be seen. Both Carlos and Randy tell me it is good to fuck overweight women that you are not attracted to. I don't understand. They have beer; me, red soda.

In the early evening Randy and I drive to Austin.

Austin is a lot like Ann Arbor except for it's bigger. And the freaks are freakier and the college students more wannabees.

The infamous Texas tower overshadows everything. Neon lines cover all the tall buildings and I feel sure that most natives do drugs and stare up at them.

Austin has its own busy life away from the campus. 6th Street. Closed off at night and open container.

We enjoy several microbreweries before braving the evening bustle.

A very wonderful place is Joe's Generic Bar. A blues band plays, quite good. The beer comes in a white can and Elvis nods from where he hangs on the wall. There is no line for the bathroom.

Just a sign:

"Don't even think of pissin' in my sink."

It might have been don't even fuckin' think, but the message is clear. Drink more Shiner Bock and flood that mother.

Did I tell you about Elvis? He winked when I returned to my seat. In Savannah his stern bust sits cheek to cheek with Buddha, Jesus, and some unknown naked girl. He knows I know.

Years ago he spoke to Randy. I do not remind my friend.

We go to Emo's. Dark, black, filled with alternative boys & girls and other strange characters. An Irish woman pulls hair from Randy's head for her Spanish friend. A man approaches, "this is my wife."

Randy raises his hands, says okay, and we make to leave. The Spanish woman, Mary Ann, is so eager to have Randy's children she keeps us from straying. The Irish woman says "don't worry, my husband and I are to make babies tonight. I'm ovulating."

Mary Ann just stares & stares at Randy's blonde hair. She tells me confidentially, "imagine a blonde baby with dark, dark eyes? Such a one would be unstoppable."


"Once a dark-haired woman like me has seen a blonde man like him there is nothing that can keep us apart."

Randy is so amused by these women that when another friend, Lynda, appears, he asks them to dance.

We move to the room where the band plays, and stand at the back of the crowd. Mary Ann says, "I don't want to get stepped on and fall down like the last time."

The new friend, also Spanish, tries flirting with me.

"What are you thinking?" she says.

"I'm just waiting for the band to come on."

"Please, be honest. What are you thinking?"

"Exactly that."

"I think you're thinking you want to fuck me." She leans closer.

"I'm married," I say, showing her my ring.

"So? You still want to fuck me. And I want you and I'm married, so what does it matter?"

To this I have no response.

Suddenly her glee fades. "I have to go, there is my husband. He's a doctor."

They drag Mary Ann away from Randy, and Randy, disappointed, gives her his phone number.

Then we mosh. The band isn't that good and I don't remember their name. They are loud, though, aggressive, and that is what counts.

Someone at the end of the night pushes Randy and he is told to leave. We walk from the club and Randy creates an inch long tear in one of Emo's posters. Justice?

It is after two and we are out of beer. In Texas you can drive with open alcohol in your car. Randy has an idea.

Partway down I-35 we arrive at a gas station/food mart just off the freeway. We stand in line for the bathroom, me first. Behind us are two other guys. "Where's the party?" one asks me. "I don't know." The other asks Randy the same thing. Randy says Houston.

I piss, go to the car, and pull it up next to the door. Randy comes out, a six pack in tow. The auto locks on the car fumble, and then he is in and we are off and away. The clerk is shouting, "I'm going to call the cops!" The two kids say, "Damn!" like they wish they'd thought of it.

Randy left eight dollars on the counter. The beer was only five. It is 2:30 a.m. and we are not criminals.

The six is gone before we are back in San Antonio. It is 5:00 am before we sleep.

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