Closed. Fridays.
1. Windows
2. Jeans
3. 4 day work week
I am seriously unnerved. There must be another shoe of Damocles hanging over my head, suspended by a single shoestring, waiting to drop. It's enough to make me feel guilty about convincing them I needed three weeks vacation instead of just two. Almost.
~whispers: "closed Fridays"~
So, Saturday I took a little road trip and went to check out my new 'satellite office' in Dickens County. Dickens is one of four counties that I'll be working for.
Dickens County is a rustic, old-west type of a place, just off the Caprock. In fact, all four of the counties in my new judicial district border the edge of the escarpment, which gives them a beauty sorely lacking from the counties that make up the land on top of the raised plains. These are ranch lands, sparsley populated and thinly patroled.
My parents lived in the town of Dickens when I was born. It was my dad's first preaching gig and he was still finishing up college. I've never spent much time there since becoming fully sentient, so I went for a drive to see what I could see.
Just after I came down off the Cap, I passed this:
You probably can't read the small print on that official looking Cattlemen's Association No Trespassing sign. Basically it says "We Will Shoot You For Being Out Past This Gate. No One Will Ask Any Questions and The Coyotes Will Eat Your Remains". More or less.
Don't trespass there. They's serious.
A little further down the road, I looked off to the side and saw this:
I moved in for a closer look:
And finally:
It's a catfish. In a chef's uniform. Holding a rolling pin. Pointing south-ish. With American flags skewering its nostrils.
Any ideas? Anyone?
I asked one of the locals, but she wasn't talkin'.
