“Dallas has ebola.”
That’s how an acquaintance from Fort Worth characterized Dallas when we met up for dinner. Apparently the two neighboring cities share an airport and not much else. There is a real New York-New Jersey style rivalry going on there.
In addition to its ebola outbreak last fall, “Dallas has all the transplants from California,” our Fort Worth friend told us, so he doesn’t go over there much. Fort Worth is where the real Texans live.
On Sunday night, the streets were hopping. The buildings were outlined in strings of lights, like Main Street, Disneyland, and music echoed from clubs and outdoor concerts. A plaza danced with little geysers of water, illuminated by colored lights.
In one open-air bar, 9 television screens broadcast a basketball game and one showed the Tony Awards. Fans who were too cheap to buy one of the 3-foot-tall beakers of beer to gain entry perched on sidewalk barriers to cheer along. I tried to figure out who just won best actress over the roars.
Back at our hotel, we could hear shrieks of terror. We looked around and found the source – we were located directly across the street from Six Flags Over Texas, the flagship park that started it all. We’ve got conspiracies to hunt down though, so we had to skip it this time.