Chewing on beef jerky. Twirling a gun. Eating wild game. Getting back to my primitive side. Galloping past the cacti into the sunset and all that.
Heat is hot.
Texas in August real hot. It is probably a season unto itself. They don't have a name for it, but they should. At the airport that day it was a balmy 104 degrees, and as I waited for a taxi the moisture just got sucked right off my eyeballs at the slightest stirring of dust-filled wind. While wishing I was physically capable of licking my eyeballs like those lizards I saw on the Dicovery Channel several nights before, I thought back on my other Texas fantasy.