A customer said a cold front was coming to Corpus. I looked forward to it until 20 gallons of water poured into my window onto my guitar in thirty seconds. A cold front is what they call a monsoon. It actually wasn't cold at all and the humidity is currently unbearable. I'm certain my COPD is caused by chronic humid conditions that have crippled my lung capacity and led to a rasping wheeze. So, the drought is over in seconds and the waves wash over the front of my fender. I'm indifferent to the speeding cars and swerving trucks. Go ahead and hit me. Who fucking cares? Now the futile pick up trucks with nothing but sand in the bed make sense because the water can rise to two or three feet in a few minutes and these trucks plow through it to the next stop light or to get to the strip club. When I hit a puddle the water splashes under the engine compartment and irrigates the popcorn seeds I have growing under my seat. It's a sparse landscape of the bleak morality we call patriotism.
