The last time I was in Dallas, I only saw it from the outskirts. I was driving through Texas from Marfa, and I stopped to get barbecue at a roadside joint. The downtown loomed in the distance like it had gotten lost on the horizon.
Now I’m back, and it’s unseasonably cold here. The downtown still looms, but today, it’s obscured by a veil of rain. I’m staying in the midst of the concrete skyscrapers, on a street that looks, to an Easterner like me, like any post-Robert Moses city in Connecticut. Only the buildings in this town are far, far taller. They do things bigger, so I’ve heard, in Texas.
Despite the weather, I have a good feeling about this town. I like Texas. I like Texans. I like super-sized Truffle fries, and I like that there was only one salad on my room service menu. I like that there are no maps available for sightseeing, because no one walks here. I like that people hold doors. More to come, I’m sure, as I absorb it all.
