| The damnedest thing I would see that first day in Gonzales came as dawn’s light spilled over the music festival grounds, revealing the countless empty beer cans trampled into the ground and the couple of dozen hearty partiers still standing here and there throughout the now relatively calm acreage. An ol’ cowboy about 50 yards from me teetered as he expounded on the same subject he’d worn out his prone partner with, then suddenly fell straight backward, his head and straw hat crashing through a Styrofoam ice chest while his boots flopped into the campfire. I counted the seconds of his thermal confusion - 7, not knowing which way to jump, before he folded at the middle with a yelp to escape both extremes. He then found some middle ground and settled down for the morning. I took that as a sign to get some shut-eye for my own self. |
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| Poemission |
| Time To Crash |