I am here. With my rogue pinkie and all.

And I have not had pulled pork until this moment. Or brisket for that matter. And I have not seen a cowboy like this before. It’s a revelation really.

Me like Texas.

But I have other issues I need to talk about. Namely pesky brothers.

They look pretty innocent at first.

Pensive even.

But then they begin to give you the evil eye.

You see the twinkle. The demon just can’t contain itself.

And the eyes begin to flutter.

And they begin to take photos while you’re taking photos because they’re such jokers.

They’re JUST



And then they get distracted and the devil subsides.

And you think, well maybe that annoying spurt was short lived and we’re all saved from anymore nonesense.

And then you get distracted because you notice “Hey! Look! The Budweiser bottle is sporting some Texas pride. And what other state has that? Maybe that means I should move to Texas and pretend I’m in the show Friday Night Lights?”

I want to be Tim Riggins when I grow up.

Thank you.

And then he sees that you’re enjoying yourself.

Oh Lord. A flare up.

You start to think about running for the hills.

And you ask yourself why you thought it was a good idea for him to be the official photographer for your life’s activities.

You dig really deep and try to remember.

Then you think about running for the hills.

Or the canyons.

Or whatever they call those things here.

It doesn’t matter, you’re going to run for them. All of them.

And leave him here to be eaten by the cowboys.

The End.