There are still cowboys in Oklahoma. They wear boots and hats with no irony and eat meals in silence. We stumbled into a diner somewhere in the nether regions of Northern Texas or Western Oklahoma. Who could tell? It seems like another country. A terse country of flats and asphalt. Straight ahead like arrow lines.
Then we hit the farm regions and the silver silos rising above the land. Suddenly there's color and shape, dimensions that are more recognizable to my eyes.
Brown winter farms, trailers, truck flocks, and signs pointing toward the desert.
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