They made me ride the mechanical bull.
I had to sign a waiver and after a couple frosés, I couldn’t tell you who might be a responsive emergency contact 1,638 miles from home. Meyrick slipped the guy a five and said, “go easy on her” which explains how I lasted 45 seconds to everyone else’s six. And here I thought my strong inner thighs were just flexing to impress you.
You have no right to be that good-looking. You, with all your blues and greens, pink bikinis on paddle boards cruising the Colorado. I only knew cities in brick and gray. Angsty baristas in distressed flannel serving strung out lawyers their fifth cup of La Colombe while the forecast reads rain. Again. But there you are: sunkissed, bedazzled cowboy boots, South Congress like 1960s Palm Springs. A Slim Aarons photo pulsing to Willie Nelson. There are mustached men on every corner and I blame my Oedipus complex for noticing.
You’ve got jokes, Austin. You call yourself the “live music capital of the world,” yet every DJ on Rainey Street seems to have the same shtick: drown out any nearby guitars with cheesy dance remixes of great rap songs. “Still Tippin’?” Really? That’s even Texas gospel. But you’re a city of contradictions and that’s why I fell for you. You’ve got a vegan spot next to the barbecue pit and pride flags hanging from F150s. All the servers at the French creperie on San Jacinto are Mexican goths; they smile at me something impish and familiar that says welcome home, bruja. Like Mother Theresa taking a smoke break, there’s irony in your salvation.
I feel placid around you, like I could just sink into your molasses summer and forget the world. Buy a bungalow and start collecting vinyl like I’ve always wanted. Gain a few pounds in the right places and swim topless in Barton Springs at dusk. When I described you to Lucrezia, I said, “e’ una citta’ piu’ unica che ovunque negli Stati Uniti… non volevo tornare a casa.” And I mean that shit, I really do.
Am I thirsty for coming on this hard after four days together? Probably, but something tells me you have that effect on people. The -ex in Texas wets my tongue just like the -ex in sex and as a water sign, I can’t resist the sensation. I might even get my concealed carry just to shoot my shot the way you like.
Until we meet again.
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This is beautiful. I'm going to Texas in two weeks, and this has me so excited to return.