Remember that little club I used to go to in the winter? The one with baby goats and shy lesbians who couldn’t go buck tucking without company? Where I once spent a short night with an oil executive who’d done so much coke his dick might never work again and then had him pay me in $1k worth of WalMart gift cards because it was the only sort of commerce available?
Susan’s written an article about it. It’s all exactly right. Except for the part where I always thought it was a sweet homey town and apparently she experienced it more like a torturous departure from civilization, but I guess you’ll have that.