I have no interest whatsoever in college basketball but I am grunting along with them in all the right places to maintain my newly achieved 'good old boy' status.
Though I need a pair of cowboy boots.
And a considerably larger gut to truly qualify.
I am at the start of my 24 hour journey back to Muroran, and even though it is still winter and, well, still Muroran, I will be glad to get back.
It is indicative of just how spectacularly dull Dallas is that it has forced me to write those words.
Oh, the good old boys are all leaving - their flight to Houston has just been called. And yes, I did say "I'll catch you down the road, pardner".
Anyway, Dallas. Bland beyond despairing disbelief. Or certainly the downtown, where I was staying and attending a conference. If I had a car, sorry 3.5 liter, V-6, 290 horsepower built in the US of goddamn A Ford Explorer (which seems to be the jeep de jure here in the Lone Star state) and got out and about a bit then maybe my opinion would have been different.
But I doubt it.
I came to the airport early this evening to see if I could buy a fire engine (and Cian, if you ever read this years in the future, let me apologize once again. But Daddy did try to find you one), because the only shops in downtown Dallas are 7-11, a PVC drugstore, and rather incongruously, a Neiman Marcus store (a very upmarket clothing shop for the failed fashionistas out there). And nothing else. Just street after street of boarded up store fronts and entire skyscrapers with 'For Sale/Lease' signs in front of them.
'Downtown' to my mind means the bustling centre of a city, predominantly given over to shopping and banks. Not vacant office buildings, boarded up windows and advice from the hotel concierge not to go for a walk after dark.
Alright, have to go, my flight has been called. I have a three hour layover in Los Angeles, so if the lines for security aren't too long, I will write another post from there.
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