On Dallas

“The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation.”
— Henry David Thoreau

“Dallas is my second-favorite city. My favorite city is everywhere else.”
— Kinky Friedman

View north from the 28th floor of the Bank of America tower, overlooking downtown and the American Airlines Center, Dallas, circa March 2002. Erik Hanson. Licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.5 Generic license.

I am in the architectural nightmare of the living dead: an intersection somewhere in Dallas. Looking across the street from where I sit, I squint at a brilliantly lighted Exxon station and a shop that cashes checks for those who endure life without a bank account. Over there I could grab a Checker Burger then spend my disposable income on Blockbuster Music or Old Navy Clothes. Neon tubes as adamant as Exacto knives trim the strip mall’s sharp edges;
spotlights striving heavenward mirror the beams at Nazi rallies staged by architect Albert Speer.

But that’s across the street, and though it’s only 30 yards away, I would have to drive to get there because this city has few sidewalks and drivers here do not distinguish between pedestrians and abandoned puppies — both make great sport. A Dallas boy behind the wheel of a massive unmuffled Ford F-150 barges through a peopled crosswalk. He wears a sadistic grin because fate has placed something that he can smash in his lane. His angry eyes peer out from beneath his Stetson to defy what little dignity you might have left in the wake of his…