Nickel pulled a chair and sat down to order a drink. And Russell asked,

— Which way did you drive out?

— The Davis Mountains this time just to see them.

— There that's a drive, the 17 south to Marfa from Mount Davis is the shit. Those roads out there are fantastic driving roads, especially on motorcycles.

— I didn't expect real mountains in Texas, Nickel said.

Years earlier his weather took Russell up again and he rode out that way himself and to these exceedingly high mountains near the desert. And from there he could see all the women and hear the dance halls rounding in front of him, the telecasters also barking, all the trucks hot rodded, the shades of brown, foiled tacos handed over, the dots of swimming pools, and the beauty of them all.

Then the moment left him and Russell continued down into the valley and back into town. When Russell heard that his friend had eventually died he departed into Fort Davis and then left the mountains and remained in Marfa. He drank first at the Lost Horse and talked with hippies and ranchers about the best songs on the juke box, the first days of country music, the last days of country music, and agave pups.

Nickel shifted to look at mockingbirds passing.

Russell continued,

— If you got a place big enough you could do something like the Devil's Backbone, but a little less biker hang and more like the Grackle. Create a gay friendly no hate allowed bar and outdoor courtyard kind of deal. Small but solid menu that isn't bbq. Make that place the hub of town. The place you plan your weekend bike ride around so you can hit it at lunch and finish at happy hour. I think imma start hunting for something there and see if I get lucky. Anyway what the fuck happened to March? Temperature dropped like eight degrees in the last hour. Fucking north wind up in our business today. I'm picking up The Teacher from the airport this afternoon at 3. I was hoping for some nice patio weather. We'll see how she's feeling about me after a week. Might not make a difference at all. But I think I look pretty good from 1000 miles out. Ha!

— Do you have a picture of her, Nickel asked.

Russell passed his phone over the table and said:

— Italian Kentuckian Amazon

— She looks tall even in that photo, Nickel replied.

— Yup I want to climb her like a tree. She makes a hell of an impression in person. Wears wrap around dresses (my favorite) and heels.

— I'm sure someone will come around

— I've been trying too. K will likely be single by then. She'll go with me. 100%. She already said she would, before she got a new fella last year but that's ok. He'll be out of circulation soon enough. I'll be back in vogue. Like how the 80's keep coming back like it or not. Still the only woman to staple a dollar to the ceiling of the Devil's Backbone with our names on it, heart betwixt. That was a good day.

Then that day ended and Nickel and Russell walked through the streets. Behold the land of desert, the way of the sky beyond town, all the people there who sit in darkness and look for great lights. And Russell sat there with them and bought two lots in town to start building there. And to them who sat in the region and in the shadow of low buildings light was sprung.