Highway 287 describes a long diagonal across the entirety of Texas, from the Oklahoma border in the far northwestern corner of the state above Dumas all the way down to the Gulf of Mexico at Port Arthur. Just south of Amarillo you can take a turn off of 287 onto Masterson Road, heading due north. You pass beneath interstate 40 and cross highway 60 and the landscape quickly turns empty and desolate. A few miles further on there’s a cotton warehouse on the left and a Tyson plant on the right where I imagine belligerent, squawking barnyard fowl being stuffed into one end of a gigantic machine and perfect little chicken nuggets spitting out from the other. Take a right on St. Francis Avenue, go past the Tyson employees entrance, and when you reach Dee King Trucking Company on the left side of the road there’s a graveyard on the right. There are only a few dozen headstones and a low chain link fence and if you’re not specifically looking for St. Francis Cemetery you could easily miss it.

It is fortunate indeed for you, Gentle Reader(s), to have stumbled upon this particular obscure corner of the intrawebs at this particular juncture in the space/time continuum. ‘Why?’ you may ask, and well you might. Because this is the last Matador Playlist to be forthcoming for six weeks or so. Shocking news, to be sure, but all for a good cause. That good cause is that Your Humble Narrator will be traveling to locales far and wide, near and narrow, in pursuit of… I dunno. In pursuit of life, love, art, music, I suppose, and the simple urban pleasures of flânerie. I’ll leave it at that for the moment, but fear not—my wanderings will not be for naught. Documentation thereof, in one form or another, will eventually find its way to these pages, rest assured. Or just rest. Rest is important.

Gentle Reader(s)—hold onto your hair—today is your lucky day! Why is today your lucky day? Today is your lucky day because YOU have stumbled onto Part Nine of the Road Crew saga! Place a bet on the ponies, buy a lottery ticket, acquire some risky stock, forget about getting hit by a meteorite, cuz YOU are on a roll. This chapter is a real thriller, let me tell you: The band ventures ever deeper into the heartland, hits the stage in support of the high-flying Tom Kindler Band, risks life and limb in their valiant quest for the Big Time, and comes face-to-face with their fandom. Spoiler alert: No vintage Stratocasters were harmed and everybody gets to go home happy... at least for the moment. So, there you go. I will sound one note of alarm, however, and that note is that this is likely to be the second-to-last episode of The Road Crew to be posted in these pages. I have encouraged you (and by 'you' I mean YOU) to get off yer duff and let me know if The Road Crew has been of interest to you... or not. That's what the Contact page is for. As of yet, it has been crickets. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Therefore, as of Part Ten I shall be pulling the plug on this little experiment. Unless you convince me otherwise. I'm not holding my breath, but I done tole ya. But forget about that for the moment and enjoy Part Nine of The Road Crew.

When I walked in the door last night my first thought was that they were having me on. Katia and Wolf were sitting there at the end of the bar grinning at me and, other than the two of them, the Place. Was. Empty. It wasn't my birthday or anything so it didn't make any sense that everyone would be hiding in the back to spring a surprise party on me—there simply weren't no one there.