Small Texas Town

Micro Story: Wicksville, Texas

My town is just like your town, I’m sure. We got more Mexican restaurants than we need and only one of them’s any good, though which one that is depends on who you ask. We got two BBQ joints that are mediocre at best, if you ask me, but each claim a long legacy of serving the best BBQ in Texas. Texas is a mighty big state boys, I always think. Let’s not get too excited, now.

I’m sure if you live up North you live in a similar place, only about lobster rolls or crab cakes or whatever you Northerners think are the best foods sellin’.

I only been up North once. Got laid over in a Maine airport on a trip to Alabama. From Texas. Ain’t that the shit? That’s what happens when you get the cheapest tickets Priceline got. You get laid over in fucking Maine on your way to Alabama. From fuckin’ Texas. I should have drove.

We got a Dollar Tree and a Dollar General and a Family Dollar and between them all they managed to put the Walmart out of business. Closed its doors up for good just two months ago. You know you’re little town’s in rough shape when a damn Walmart can’t stay afloat. But I’m preachin’ to the choir I’m sure. Like I said, you’re town is probably just like my town. Got a high school football team that won the championship 100 years ago and can’t forget it. A car wash that ain’t ever open, and when it is the change machine’s broke. A trailer park with a fancier name than it deserves. A Trade Days where one day a month you can trade your crap for your neighbor’s crap out in public. A rodeo. A fair. You get the idea. My town is just like your town.

Well, now, wait a minute. There might be one thing that makes my town a bit different than your town. We got ourselves a Chester Crider. I bet you ain’t got a Chester Crider. You want one? We sure as hell don’t. But he just won’t leave. And ever since “The Incident” it sure would be mighty nice if he did. Many good people didn’t survive “The Incident” including some good friends of mine. Maybe I’ll move to your town and eat your mediocre BBQ and have tacos al carbon at every one of your best Mexican restaurants without this fear and dread around for a change. I sure would if I could. But I can’t. Much as I’d like to. Chester Crider, well, he just ain’t gonna let me, of all people, leave Wicksville, Texas. Oh no. He wouldn’t allow me that mercy. Not me. That’s for damn sure.