So Thursday a dear companion was under the weather and I happened into a coworker at the local grocers'. She invited me over for dinner with she and several others, and I accepted.
I had a lovely time, but little did I know as I left her place that the best was yet to come.
Her place was a goodly distance from my house, and I set out from there, following the instructions to turn left, even though right felt the proper way to go. Soon I was driving down a lonely Texas highway in the dark of night, chatting on the phone to my dad about evasive driving should feral hogs cross my path. Suddenly the signal dropped and I was alone in the dark with about a hundred miles of open range to the west and to the east the middling city's lights reflected on low clouds.
This was the most desolate moment since I've been out here. I thought of nights driving through Dallas and feeling like I owned it, slick and new and concrete, and sparkling with diamond lights.
This night I felt like desolate west Texas owned me, instead, with its spotty blessings of dropped signals and wild bacon on the trotter.