Convenience, Quality, and Bar-B-Que

The roads have been clear- the ominous skies dissipated as the day rose to it's feet- well strapped laces, freshly shined and ready for any variable to come. Got Neil Young to accompany us through the speakers and we're shooting straight through Houston like it were a contagious disease, which is many ways, I guess it is. Paul refuses to stop in this fabricated Tex-Mex caucasion circus and I don't blame him, even though I'm copiously salivating over the idea of some bar-b-que- as it can only be found in true form here in Texas- Bar-b-que that could easily be obtained at any Houston interstate exit, lodged between trails of truckers litter, Wal-Marts, a myriad of Ethnic cusine restaurants all in Americanized Uniform of hideous neon signs and shiney plastic accutrements, gas stations, and shit-kicker western boot outlet stores. A proletariats paradise, free of the shackles of ambition or motivation. Apathy and good cuts of meat, Gods of all these things round here. Fair enough. I can taste the tang of bar-b-que already....

But Houston won't receive our patronage today. I personally would have given in to my stomach pangs and weak will and exploited Houston for what it's worth (damn good bar-b-que), but Paul has remained steady and true in his resistance and unparalleled disgust of such a tacky paradigm. He is clearly much more of a purist than I am, though he DID very eagerly scarf down a full McDonald's breakfast this morning: cheese egg buscuit, hasbrowns, coffee and all.

We try.
Convienence often runs a close second to quality.