It’s Friday evening in Luckenbach, Texas. The sun has just started to dip behind the live oaks that tower over the famous nineteenth-century dance hall and neighboring general store. Recent rains have greened the grass and cooled the final days of this hot, dry summer. Day drinkers linger in the shade at wooden picnic tables, and just beyond them, tall cypress trees line a shallow stream known as Snail Creek. I step out of my truck and head toward the dimly lit bar tucked in the back of the general store. It feels a little like going home.

Inside, I find a deserted corner, order a Lone Star, prop my boots up on the empty stool next to mine, and watch as folks trickle in. Some visit Luckenbach to see a certain band or attend a festival or tour the Hill Country back roads on a Harley. Other

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