A Lone Star on Dirty 6th. 

Make that two. 

A hit of Willy weed. 

And the blues. 

In my cropped Jameson tee and distressed daisy dukes. 

Assimilating.

 

People shouldn’t look so proud when they tip.

 

A man comes over from across the bar.

Says it’s weird that Austin is known for comedy now.

I ignore him. He was short.

 

A roach scurries. Feels like home.