The natural state of everything in Texas is meat. That is, unlike the rest of the universe, which is hurtling toward entropy at an incredible rate, in Texas everything eventually turns into meat. Of this there are only facts.
At breakfast Jake and I have been debating the nature of these eclairs that they offer at our hotel. They are wrapped in clear plastic with red lettering, not unlike Twinkies. I have been convinced all along that these are chocolate eclairs, while Jake remains suspicious. To end the mystery once and for all I grabbed one and dove in.
Meat. And bread. It was meat wrapped in fucking bread. The meat was a cruel mockery of sausage, more Slim Jim than anything else, a tubular array of spiced carnage. The bread was bread, the debate was over, the axiom proven.
Everything in Texas is in a constant state of becoming meat. Hence our sense of urgency.