In fact, I should pour those down the drain one of these days.”
Jack smiled. He consulted the clearly biased “directory” for dining options, and settled on a nearby steakhouse. XXNX Cowboy hats dominated the local aesthetic, and the eerily self-congratulatory “Don’t Mess With Texas” paraphernalia seemed oddly like an act of conformity. They had apparently not considered the actual distance beyond the roughly one inch on the map, and the journey had cost him nearly $65 not including tip. Jack wheeled his diminutive suitcase into the lobby and checked in. “My husband wants to know if you have dinner plans.”
“Well, I did, but Ann Richards cancelled on me, so I guess not.”
Linda smiled and turned back to the phone. “Umm, till Monday, I guess. The same amount here would get you a damn mansion. A handsome Hispanic man emerged with a beer in his hand.
