Coral dusk Texas; the cowboy moves tri-tip out of temptation’s way. He must concentrate. Steak plate slides, bunching up gingham crossed juke joint table. Wagon Train on UHF.
The cowboy murmurs and the steak abides. There’s a thing. It’s a thing happenin’. Young one crossed dishrag-sky Pennsylvania. Young one named Mac Miller.
Like that steak shoved down table, the cowboy nudges an imperative across time and space. “Buy the T-shirt, Mike. Buy it and wear it and never take it off. Let it be your mask and cape. Let it be your sigil.”
And Mike does. He goes to Karmaloop with his mom’s Visa and starts down a path of legend.
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