IN THE BEGINNING: This month's installment began here in my new digs
tucked away in Lost Hollow.
From Innerspace to Luckenbach...
Story & Photos by IRA KENNEDY
I thought about writing a tour about what I thought might happen.
After all, what good is my Poetic License if, every now and again,
I don't put it to good use?
s I was pondering the notion, Ollie
Gravis showed up saying that if I'd take him along he'd let me pretend to be me. Offers like that don't come along everyday,
especially from Ollie. So we lit out early on a Saturday for a quick stop to the
Granite-O-Bar in Llano for some Lone Star sandwiches.
Nigel the Land
Rover was never running better. All the
windows, lights and brakes worked; the tank was topped off with high grade gas; and that
slow leak in the left tire shut itself off altogether.
We had hardly
made any headway at all before Ollie yelled for me to stop. Which I did.
Reaching into the
ice chest I pulled out a cold one, drank a fair amount right off then put it to rest on
the coffee table while waiting for instructions from Ollie.
"Am I getting
wages for this?"
said before," explaining the situation yet again, "You ain't getting nothing now
and you're ain't getting nothing later, so what ya' got to lose?"
"Well at them
rates," Ollie said, "I want to skip the driving part and find some down-home
road house with maybe a few young fillys at the bar suffering from a powerful thirst and a
decided preference for gentlemen of a certain maturity."
spurs to it! We can haggle details
With that I turned
back to the laptop and commenced:
Just up ahead on the
right was The Bar None Bar and Bar-B-Q. The
place was dark as the insides of a cow after stepping in out of the daylight. But Ollie could find a bar stool blindfolded with
his hands tied behind him, and ear muffs on, so I just followed his shadow.
PAGE 1: HEADIN' OUT / PAGE 2: HONKY TONKIN'
Once my eyes were
able to give shape to things I looked around. The bar seemed to be put together from
older, long-gone, wore-out cowboy cantinas. Off
in one corner was a juke box framed in an arch of rainbow colored tubes with bubbles
flowing up through them. Suddenly it started
all by its lonesome with Patsy Cline singing "Crazy".
Behind the bar hung
a large, dusty print of Custer's Last Stand from the Anneuser Bush Brewing Association. On a shelf were
gallon jars of beef jerky, pickles, pickled
eggs, pigs feet and hot sausage. A couple of
old cracker tins completed the menu. Leaning
up against what was probably a mirror with business cards crammed in around the edges of a
don't make us write don't signs."
While I was taking
everything in, an extra-fancy cowgirl with blond hair just like Marilyn Monroe leaned over
from behind the bar bracing herself with a rag in one hand and a cigarette in the other
which sported a wedding ring about the size of a Mason jar.
flavor?" she asked Ollie as if talking about something entirely different and sweetly
intimate in nature.
"I just drink
cold beer, sweetheart," Ollie smiled. "Get one for that feller sittin' next to
me too. He's buyin'." Then he turned to me, "You're doing
good kid, but where's them fillys? This one
must be married to an oil well."
The words hardly
left his lips when, just as I laid eyes on the door it swung open and the light blinded me
like a Texas sized flash bulb. I was seeing spots but most of them turned out to be one of
the prettiest red and white polka dot dresses I ever laid eyes on. What with the matching lipstick and polished
fingernails everything fit together perfectly. The
whole affair belonged to a filly some five foot-four in heels. She was girl-size vertically speaking. But her horizontal proportions were growed up for
certain. I reckon God had to make everything
about her small so he could put so many pretty parts on one place.
girl," Ollie muttered.
PAGE 3: LUCKENBACH / PAGE 4: HEADIN' HOME
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