Austin, In Depth or Lack Of
In this muggy city on the river, we have no historical identity, so we overdose, analyze, dissect and fuck with pop culture. If Andy Warhol rose from the grave, he'd come to Austin before he bought new clothes. For an economically and politically important city, we have no important history. But as long as you're staunch in your opinions about film or shitty rock and roll here, you'll have an identity here. We flit in the light of the evening like fireflies, unconcerned with the matters of the day.
Austinites, your city is a mirage and the ground you stand on is transient. A waystation for the wayward and those who never made it out. Posterize your mugshots and load another pipeful. Ride over-wrought bicycles until your thighs explode in spandex agony. Binge on your tacos and punk rock and bad beer, and in the technicolor puddles of the morning, you'll see a very pale reflection indeed.