On the Town, Texas Style

This is a couple of days late, but it's the first time I've had a chance to sit down and type it up:

On Wednesday night, my colleague Carrie Johnson and I were out, having some dinner, hashing over the day's testimony from former Enron chief executive Jeffrey Skilling.

At about 10 p.m., as we were walking back to our respective dwellings, we passed a sweet, old Ford Mustang. I'm guessing it was about a '67. It was a shimmering and spotless orange; probably not factory original, but so what. I could tell it had a custom muffler from the low grumble it kicked out during idle, as it sat at the light.

I was admiring the chrome hood tie-downs when the driver stuck his head out of the window and asked directions.

He was a skinny guy, somewhere between 70 and 120, I'm guessing. White guy, but skin as brown as a nut and as tough-looking as jerky. This guy was Old Texas. I fantasized that he might have been an ex-astronaut, but he wasn't young enough. He coulda been a Texas Ranger. Hell, he coulda been at the Alamo.

Sitting next to him was, presumably, his wife. You could tell she was looker in her day. Probably Miss Plano '38, or some such. Big smile on both of them. And here's the kicker: Sitting in between them, nestled next to the chrome shifter, was a little corgi. These guys knew how to travel.

Thankfully, the driver's request was a simple one and I could help him. "Thank ya, sir," he said, as the light changed. The Mustang growled and they set off on their next adventure.

I checked the plate just to make sure -- yep, Texas. Then I tried to construct a story that woulda brought this ol' boy and his gal to the big city on a Wednesday night in their fine ride. Every scenerio I thought up made me smile.

By Frank Ahrens |  April 15, 2006; 3:18 PM ET  | Category:  Houstoniana
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