You are safe, Childress.
In the spring of 2017, I traveled from Colorado down to Wichita Falls, Texas, to do some work. Sometimes I’ll fly the friendly skies; this time I thought the windshield of my nice new truck, the Texas plains and an audio book sounded good.
Books became a staple in my life before smart phones existed. I was a custodian at a school district, and I worked a little and slacked a little. My slackness manifested as I cleaned or vacuumed a library and noticed a book with an interesting title. I would wonder no more about the content of that book as I took a seat in the library, alone, in the evening. Yes, I was a slacker, but a slacker with purpose. Now when I go to a library or book store, I notice a book on almost every shelf that I have enjoyed.
I went to Wichita Falls to visit a client. After an overnight and some simple consulting work reviewing financials — what is driving the low numbers, praise the good numbers — I was back on the road, taking 287 north. After a couple of hours I was coming into Childress, Texas, and in every small town you learn that you’d better slow down or you’ll be helping the community’s financial situation. Just ten miles up the road from Childress is Estelline, world-renowned for the speed trap of the Camaro cop sitting under the old patio. Every time I go by, it seems that