North of Abilene, somewhere near my Dad.

November 9, Abilene.

Last date of the season, last lot and a nice one but for the sand spurs endemic in this part of the country. As always time accelerates when the end is near and summer and the East Coast seem like yesterday.
When I was growing up my father would often travel to the U.S. for work and sometimes swing by New York City; there he liked to stop at the Lone Star Café where, he would half-mockingly declaim back home in his heavily-accented English, you found "the best steak north of Abilene."
I can't think of Abilene without thinking of him.