The past week finally exhibited fall weather controls in the area. Though it’s truly not that surprising, I have to remind myself that millions living here will never in their lives leave the state except to go to Mexico to have their teeth looked at. They don’t know the way the air’s supposed to be (e.g., a Colorado sunny day). But shit, come to Tejas and pull over on a highway overpass, look at’em: refinery after refinery after highly-secured refinery, all in a row defined by the oil shoring up the pores on your forehead, cheeks, and nose.
Don’t you go staying parked for too long there, though. When you’re scrubbing the excess from your face with a licked finger or towelette, by that time somebody in a control room across the great sea of smoke, wire, and caliche is already going to be watching you, waiting a few more seconds before they call a car out.
The skies are heavier, cotton rag orange, and able to hold off the northerns a lot longer each year.
I’m probably just missing Montana a little.

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