There’s a certain subset of people who, when I tell them I live in Marfa, get a hazy look in their eyes.
Some of the world’s best musicians are small and feathered, and many regularly perform in Texas.
I must have seen Paris, Texas, for the first time when I was in college.
The hourlong drive from my house in Austin to the quiet town of Bartlett is not so much a drive as it is an unwinding, an unpacking, a leaving behind of the detritus that accumulates in the city. I get behind the wheel and creep through traffic on Interstate 35, headed north.
In 1993, the El Paso Red Cross was in desperate need of money. The organization hatched a plan to host an event so large that it could sell out the Sun Bowl and give the proceeds to local charities.
It’s a thought that has probably occurred to almost every Texan at one point or another. You’ll be out there driving along, going from nowhere to someplace, when you pass through a foundering small town with a tragic downtown area, and you see the abandoned gas stations and empty stores and think …