Eons ago, when I had hair, I went to a husband-wife owned and operated barber shop.

The wife was snippin’ my hair.

Some gent was being clipped by the husband barber.

Husband barber, always a big talker, said the couple barbered for years in Colorado.

Then moved back to Texas.

Gent asked why they moved back.

Too dang cold, explained husband barber.

Laughed, said he didn’t want to have to be buried there.

I went home and wrote my first and I guess last and only alleged country/western song.

Don’t know where it is; maybe buried in my tons of files.

Or mentally in my repository of useless information.

Don’t remember all the words, though I’m sure there are references to divorce and trains and smoking and beer.

‘Portant stuff like that.

The stuff of life.

Isn’t destined for Nashville.

Or the charts.

Just sorta sits there, rhythmically bouncing around on my brain waves.

Hook line goes like this:

“Take me back to Texas and bury me where it’s warm.”