Texas

by Bobby Fisher

Wakeup in Texas to the smell of carpet fresh with a hint of fertilizer salesman. The aroma in room #327 parallels that of a NYC taxi cab in high summer. Cherry flavored B.O. comes to mind. The windows are big and built to stare out of, not to breath from. ‘Why are they sealed shut?’ I ask my scantily clad imaginary cowgirl friend who sits  in the corner tending to her lasso. Ennio Morricone penetrates the useless glass. I hear-

“The condemned is found guilty of depriving oxygen from the paying customer of this establishment (The Hampton Inn Stephenville just off interstate 377). Therefore, according to the powers vested in me I sentence the accused Tuco Benedicto Pacifico Jaun Maria Ramirez otherwise known as that Peckerwood architect…and any other aliases he might have, to hang by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on his soul..Proceed!”

What would a Texan say about the author of such dysfunctional portholes? ‘If dumb was dirt, he’d cover bout an acre.’

There is a .56% Samoan population in this dusty town. The burly Polynesians live in harmony with UFO‘s, dead skunks, and singer songstress- all around cute gal Jewel. Her rodeo star husband of  ‘This is Texas we don’t go for that shit round here’ fame, has a 2400 acre spread up the road just past Indian Creek Cemetary. My mission is to photograph them for Instyle magazine while staying true to my artistic vision without jepardizing the commercial needs of the aforementioned publication. First: A certain 7 year old has asked me to go deep into Comanche territory and bring her back a rattlesnake’s rattle. I’ve decided i’m not a fan of hemotoxic venom. The tissue swelling, internal bleeding, paralysis, and intense pain might make it difficult to hold a camera. She’ll have to make do with a dozen mexican jumping beans from DFW airport. Coincidentally the beans in their tiny plastic incasement produce a similar sound to that of a rattlesnake’s rattle, only in super slow motion. Serendipity!…..never use that word in Texas or you will be beaten senseless.

Side note: I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect situation in which to photograph road kill. ‘Texas desert end of day defused magic hour light’. An almost cliche empty bend on a lonely stretch of country highway, and most importantly a pristine yet very dead Polecat.