Friday, October 30, 2009
Sometimes this city feels pretty generically suburban. I start thinking that you could transport my neighborhood to Indiana or Connecticut and nobody would really notice. And then something will always happen that makes me realize, "Nope. Nowhere but Texas..."
My 5-K neighborhood run takes me past a small firehouse. The other night when I jogged by, a bunch of the guys were out on the lawn, sitting around on the tailgate of a pickup truck and taking turns at some sort of game. I looked closer and realized they had a lasso and a plywood cutout of a calf, and they wuz havin' them a steer-ropin' contest.
They were pretty bad at it, actually, but still...