Just today a Dallas newspaper had an article about secession.  It posited that more people outside Texas than inside would like the state to secede from the Union.

I saw my brother for lunch.  My sister-in-law suddenly got sick at the sight of me and begged off lunch.  I am trying not to connect the dots.

I sat in the bar/lounge of my hotel, waiting for my friends for dinner, and saw a sign that weapons are not allowed in the bar/lounge.  I’m from New York City, where grit and crime are part of the  urban landscape, and I have never seen such a sign.  I suddenly felt safer in NY.  At least I know that in No-Where-istan, that fabulous, mythical place, there are no weapons, concealed or otherwise.

Actually, given that my hotel was in the seamy part of Dallas (my secretary allowed “cost-cutting” to go too far), I am feeling like I am in an area of Dallas that, if this were NY, would be called Fort Apache, The Bronx.

But no gunfights so far, so I don’t really feel like I am in the Republic of Texas.  This is already a long, strange trip and Jerry Garcia had the benefit of drugs.