Page 33 of Possibly Texas

“There’s so many to choose from,” I mumbled.

Auguste grinned at my snide remark. “—but everyone kinda considers it the main street. Probably because it has the tram alongside of it, and—”

“What is up with the tram, anyway?”

“Well—”

“I mean,” I said, “who needs a tram that runs, like, forty yards? It doesn’t even really go anywhere, ya’ know?”

Auguste laughed. “Just let me do the tour here, sir.”

“Okay.”

Auguste’s good-natured smile and his easy laugh put me at ease. Unlike Jack, who didn’t want to tell me anything about town, Auguste was ready to explain everything. As long as I was patient with him about the details he planned to share.

“Sorry.” I added.

“No problem,” he said. “So—”

“Why does the radio station play the same song on repeat all day long?” I asked, forgetting my patience. “I mean, from six to six anyway. Which isn’t all day long, by the way.”

“Patience, Jordan!” Auguste demanded in a comedic voice.

“Sorry,” I said. “Again.”

Auguste watched me for a moment. I made a “zipping” motion over my lips, then pretended to put a key in my pocket.

“Okay.” He looked away, then glanced at me again before continuing. “So, AMOR is over there. The radio station.”

He pointed at the second building on the left, green and squat, but pleasant looking.

“Amos runs the radio station,” Auguste said. “He’s a really nice guy. But, well, I mean, he does play just one song a day for twelve hours. No one really knows why, I guess. We all suspect that it’s his form of art, but we’re not sure.”

“Um, okay?”

Auguste shrugged with a smile, then nudged me and pointed down the street. My eyes darted over to check out what he was pointing at in the street.

“That’s Earl Dean.” He was pointing at the man with the pickaxe who was already awake and tearing up another spot in the street. “Liberty Lane is his project, I guess. He’s making a rainbow in the street. He said that he hopes one day to have the entire street full of different colored bricks.”

“I see that.” I nodded as I pointed at the police officer stationed on the side of the street, leaning against one of the buildings. “But why? And why does the cop just let him?”

Auguste shrugged.

“What’s he hurting, you know?”

“That’s not an answer.” I laughed. “He’s tearing up city property.”

“But replacing it with something prettier,” Auguste said. “So, he’s not tearing up city property—he’s improving it. At his own expense and labor.”

“That is a really weird way to look at it.”

“What’s wrong with weird?” Auguste mumbled.

“Nothing,” I answered quickly. I didn’t want to upset him like I had Jack with my ‘weird’ comments. “I’m just surprised that the city is okay with it.”

“Well,” Auguste started slowly, “it’ll be really nice when he’s done.”

“How long has he been working on it?” I asked.