Emerging from a long dinner at the postindustrial brasserie last night at midnight, my companion and I found the weather had turned from subtropically balmy to arctic port in the time it had taken to drink a bottle of Bordeaux and navigate various conversational spelunkings. Exploring this phenomenon further, we found one of the edges of the world (behind the Austin Police Department shooting range, if you're wondering) and several signs of our mass existential entropy, including this model home at the end of Delwau Road in East Austin (right down the street from an abandoned condominium sales office on wheels parked at the side of the road, complete with photo of tanned white couple enraptured at the end of the pool). We had not set out to discover the spirit of Nihilist Christmas, but there it was, calling our names in the blistering wind (or were those the names of the dead?). When confronting these kinds of nameless voids, trustworthy company is recommended.
I hope to soon be moving in to the model unit at the end of the street where no one drives, a conceptual performance without an audience, a perfect simulacrum of an American life. I don't think the water is hooked up, but it looked like the cable is working.
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