A ticket to Texas

I entered the era of Trump 2.0 from deep in the heart of Trump country: Texas. At long last, I scheduled my first trip down to the Austin office. (Okay, no so Trump-y turf.) And honestly? I liked it more that I expected. Admittedly, I didn't get to see much of the city itself: there were some long hours in the office. The converted Hatchet Alley has serious early-day Neuralink vibes, but not just for the worst. Whenever a catered meal arrived, we all clustered along the bar counter and connected, regardless of team. I missed the sort of comradery that came from the scrappy small team dynamic. In between the work hours, I got to enjoy the local circus studio and scoped out the Belgian brew scene. The music poured out of bar after bar, upholding the city's lively reputation. The idea of a potential move really got my wheels turning by the end of the week, though perhaps I'm just getting the itch as I roll into my seventh year in California, officially making it the longest stretch I've ever lived anywhere. It often feels like I'm living someone else's dream: California's fine and all, but I could leave it tomorrow and wouldn't look back. My thirties are looking like a solid investment in a life I'll one day want to live. I wish that day would come already.

Snapshots of a week in Austin: a half-mast flag on a snowy inauguration day despite Trump's orders, a drink at Mort Subite, and other images from evenings downtown.