![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihnrAg-w_50zbxRpvNLCuaNkGZHn0QWlEsbBGHHVVOgzCtRXVEudiaU4n3cw-YmCeo7NcWYtzV_Ymae2FtCdwf8wSmHc8cU6ijQM1okUWlkPcOtmES2YiKRxJ2Scy6hX7zOQqB/s280/bb9.jpg)
Driving through the Texas Panhandle seemed interminable. Speed up, slow down, pass through a little town. Bogdanovich redux. And repeat. Until the border. The further north and west one goes in Texas, the more red-hot it gets. And flat. Not to say there’s no life out there. There must be some life worth preserving, why else would everyone need a gun, as the endless billboards proclaim? That part of Texas is locked in a scenario that time has passed by. Every town is portraying their version of Mayfield. Everyone’s parents are Ozzie and Harriet. There is no pandemic. There is no need for a mask. Move along, nothing to see here. Leave us alone. Go back home. Leave it to Jesus.