585 Words. 2 Minute Read.

My mornings in Texas start with a cup of coffee on Lake Austin. I sit at a park table with my copy of Caro’s The Path to Power, watching steam escape from my cup. When a gust of wind hits, which is often, the foliage on massive oaks rattles like maracas, covering the pages of my paperback with crispy leaves.

489 Words. 2 Minute Read.

My architect was more Frank Lloyd Wright: indifferent to authority, a malcontent with a high IQ, a nonconformist in a cape.

663 Words. 3 Minute Read.

I figure I owe myself a treat when a plane is four hours late, which means it’s perfectly acceptable to have a Dr Pepper and a cheeseburger for breakfast and feel no regret whatsoever.

416 Words. 2 Minute Read.

I’m headed to Texas tomorrow—Austin, to be exact—and I can’t find my cowboy boots. They’re nothing special. I bought ’em in Louisiana in ’04… I think in Shreveport. I also bought a can of Copenhagen that day. But they’re lost in the garage now.

1,236 Words. 5 Minute Read.

It didn’t take too long to figure out the ferry was my only option. Shortly thereafter, an email arrived confirming what I was hoping to avoid: my flight was canceled. I sat on the train bewildered. I didn’t want to spend the night on the ferry, but I would if I had to. My gut started to rot with anger and shame.