No. 177 - Under an Awning in Austin
653 Words. 2 Minute Read.
I walked under the awning of an old gas station that was now a repair shop for junkers. Since it was around sunset and the business was closed, I took a seat on a metal chair in front of a big pane of glass that hadn’t seen a squeegee in decades.
No. 171 - Bookshops, Mountains, and the Red Manifesto
1,252 Words. 5 Minute Read.
I swung by Alienated Majesty Books, a small, locally owned indie shop near the University of Texas campus. Do you know how odd it is to not know a single author? To walk amongst thousands of them was the literary equivalent of taking acid in a forest of mirrors.
No. 169 - The Hair Dryer Called Austin
697 Words. 3 Minute Read.
The air was brittle, blanketing, obnoxious. Austin is like living in the path of a massive hair dryer—morning, noon, and night.
No. 167 - Cabs in Austin & Versailles
973 Words. 4 Minute Read.
As any man knows, there’s a point of no testicular return. It happens upon the submergence of Frick and Frack, when the boys and the central nervous system screech in unison—when a man would just as soon take a Louisville Slugger to the cranium as dip the old coin purse in chilly water.