Texans are always in motion. Big working-man hands grasp the steering wheels of white pick-ups. Black labs sit up as straight as gods in the passenger seats, noble in profile through dark tinted windows. The trucks go by so fast, rumbling over the potholes, suspension unstrained.
I'm not imagining this: on Channel 3 (KBTX, Bryan, Texas), car dealers hawk row after row of vehicles with paint as slick and hard as armor. To be in motion is to be fulfilled.
I have been in motion too since we moved here from Los Altos (Spanish for "the Mayonnaise Eaters"). I pedal down the East Bypass every morning, fighting the wind, scoping out what's fallen off those white pick-up trucks. There's the scrap of imitation Berber carpet -- new homes are always under construction, circled in close like covered wagons. And there's a scattering of black plastic pots, detritus from a landscaping project; I bet they planted red bud and pampas grass. Here's a Sonic bag -- no lunch left. Everyone is ravenous at lunch time. It takes energy to be on the move like this.
And here's the Ponderosa Motel -- Truck Parking available. It looks so much better with that new red metal roof.
Finally it is flat enough to see into the future. I read the roadside trash as carefully as I would chicken entrails.
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