coastal trolling

Border Washout I roared out of town, cursing Texas traffic, after a night of revelry with Bonnie: smoking, drinking, singing, laughing, and storytelling on the porch at her cool place in the hills outside San Antonio. (When I first met her in Matehuala thirty-five years ago we had a big fight, but neither of us can remember what it was about, most likely my fault.) When I got to the border 150 miles away they wouldn't let me take my truck in because my registration was the one from the year before. No amount of cajoling, persuading, begging, and outright bribery attempts would make the bank official change her mind. (No papers, no tortillas.) I had messed up big-time: When I had been cleaning out the truck in Austin I had realized I only had last year's registration but figured they wouldn't notice or care at the border. (I should have immediately gotten the up-to-date title overnighted from Garberville.) Being stuck at th...

Border Washout I roared out of town, cursing Texas traffic, after a night of revelry with Bonnie: smoking, drinking, singing, laughing, and storytelling on the porch at her cool place in the hills outside San Antonio. (When I first met her in Matehuala thirty-five years ago we had a big fight, but neither of us can remember what it was about, most likely my fault.) When I got to the border 150 miles away they wouldn't let me take my truck in because my registration was the one from the year before. No amount of cajoling, persuading, begging, and outright bribery attempts would make the bank official change her mind. (No papers, no tortillas.) I had messed up big-time: When I had been cleaning out the truck in Austin I had realized I only had last year's registration but figured they wouldn't notice or care at the border. (I should have immediately gotten the up-to-date title overnighted from Garberville....

Border Washout I roared out of town, cursing Texas traffic, after a night of revelry with Bonnie: smoking, drinking, singing, laughing, and storytelling on the porch at her cool place in the hills outside San Antonio. (When I first met her in Matehuala thirty-five years ago we had a big fight, but neither of us can remember what it was about, most likely my fault.) When I got to the border 150 miles away they wouldn't let me take my truck in because my registration was the one from the year before. No amount of cajoling, persuading, begging, and outright bribery attempts would make the bank official change her mind. (No papers, no tortillas.) I had messed up big-time: When I had been cleaning out the truck in Austin I had realized I only had last year's registration but figured they wouldn't notice or care at the border.(I should have immediately gotten the up-to-date title overnighted from Garberville.) Being stuck at the border, th...