Tom Brosseau is a North Dakota native with a penchant for Flannery O’Connor. His latest album is “Cavalier.”

Yesterday

I arrived in San Antonio from Los Angeles. I collected my things and picked up the rental. They had me in a beige two-door that I just couldn’t bear.

“Happen to have something darker in color? Have you a Chevy Impala?” I asked the gal behind the counter.

“You’d probably look a whole lot better! Beige is so common in this line of work, and to tell you the truth, I’m tired of it!” she smiled. “Problem is no Impalas.”

I spent a week once in San Antonio. I stayed in one of those motels outside of town. The days were lazy, slow. I remember the evenings being painted anti-twilight. I did a lot of walking. The air was full of electricity.

I took the 410 to the 35. I traveled with the windows down. I scanned the radio and the XM. There is an outlet for an iPod. I don’t own one. Nifty things, though. I feel the more you stay with technology, the more you must buy, the more you have to keep up, and I don’t like that kind of competition.

I made a stop along the way in Buda, Texas. I happened upon a group of elderly women white as sheets of paper. I asked if they could recommend a place to eat.

“Where are you from?” I heard them chuckle.
“I’m from North Dakota,” I said.
“Shoot! You’re a long way from home! How long you planning on staying in Buda?”
“I’m just passing through,” I said.
“Well, alright. There’s a place up the road called Bill Miller.”
“Bill Miller?”
“You like BBQ, don’t you? They serve that up there in Dakota, don’t they?”

Coming into Austin, I took the Riverside exit. I met up with my friend, Mony V., downtown at Taverna on 2nd and Lavaca, in the heart of SXSW land. The last time I saw Mony I was touring with Nickel Creek.

“How’s the flight?” she asked.
“Alright! Hope you’ve not been waiting long?”
“Not at all! How’s the drive?”
“Alright.” I put my hand on my head. “It’s windy out there! I saw a man chasing after his wig!”

The waitress came and we ordered something to drink.

“I’m surprised I didn’t have more trouble parking downtown,” I said. “Even with all the madness there’s still room.”
“What did they put you in?” she asked.
“A black Hyundai Sonata.”

The waitress returned with red wine. I looked out the window to the new buildings and all the construction.

“You have the key, so come and go as you like!” she said.
“Thanks for giving me a place stay, Mony!”

We talked a bit more and then went our separate ways. I drove out of downtown, crossed the bridge and parked near the Congress Avenue Baptist Church. I stopped into Allen’s Boots. I looked at bolo ties, belts and belt buckles, billfolds, and ended up buying a magnet for the fridge. Allen’s was full of people, but I kept crossing paths with a gal trying on cowboy boots.

“Do you think these look OK?” she called out.
“Me?”
“Yeah, silly! Do these look alright to you?”

I took a step back. She twisted one leg and then the other to give me a good look at the boots. They were orange-red and turquoise, with silver.

“Gee,” I said, “I really don’t know.”
“C’mon! I want your honest opinion.”
“You don’t even know me,” I said.
“Well, maybe that’s why I want your opinion?”
“Yeah, but what makes you think I know anything about fashion?”
“It’s a simple enough question, right? Do they look good on me or not?” she smiled.

I nodded my head.

“I knew it! I thought so too! Thanks for your complete honesty!” She kicked the boots off and headed up to the register.

I went back to Congress. There were no clouds. The sun was soft. I could feel it rub my face. The wind was at my back. What I wanted most was a cold drink. The street was lined with busy bodies and I kept getting nudged. I went into Cissi’s Market. I was thirsty. I roamed about the sundries and narrowed in on the cooler — nothing tickles the fancy more than a glass bottle of Coke.

I walked across the street to the Continental Club. I sat and read the Austin Chronicle. I sent a text to my friend John Doe: u n austn yt? i m goin 2 c x on fri. The bottle of Coke was sweating. I drank it down. I was thirsty. There was a hot rod parked in the street. I am not a car person, but I couldn’t help wondering about it, and everyone walking by stopped to take a look too.

The band at the Continental Club sounded like a carnival. The gentleman at the door said they went by the name That Damn Band. He had a thick mustache. I detected a smile.

“That Damn Band?” I asked.
“Yup! That Damn Band,” he responded.

I continued on Congress. My favorite stretch is the poorly manicured sidewalk between Elizabeth and Gibson. A white house with green shutters and unruly hedges stands alone. For whatever reason, I like it and can picture myself living there.

The music has faded and the only thing I can hear are the grackles. I have heard many people talk about how annoying these birds are, how harsh sounding they are, but I find them quite pleasant. The Texas state capital sits beyond. The sun is going down.

On 1st I saw my friend David Garza. It’s not been too long since I saw him last.

“You got a haircut! Looks good!” I said.
“Yeah, cut a lot off!”

He was wearing a salmon-colored short-sleeved shirt, black pants and black shoes.

“I’m at the Hole in the Wall tonight,” he said.
“OK.”

The first time I saw David Garza was on a TV commercial singing his song “Kinder.” I wanted to be like that.

The sun is gone. I found a good spot to sit. I am wearing a new jean jacket. It is rigid. I watched the flashing lights, the bikes, the horses and the people. I put my palms on the pavement. The concrete is warm. I can feel the city shake.

–Tom Brosseau

Photos by or courtesy of Kelly McClean; Buda, Texas; Ric Feld / AP; Mel Melcon / Los Angeles Times.