Some of you may remember, from the early blogging days, that I posted a letter to a really really cool guy who drove a monster truck around Bryan-College Station. I wanted to let all of you know that if you have been praying for my relationship with that Badass, rejoice, your prayers have been answered. We are like really good friends now, or something.

It turns out that the Cousin of Badass lives here in Austin. Who would'a thunk it? She's really down to earth, drives a Miata, and has three tattoos, that I know of. I was downtown trying to get across the river yesterday for church, when a long strand of sweaty and dog-tired looking folks with numbers plastered on their chests just started running down the middle of the road.

Two police men were walking across the from the adjacent side-walk with orange barricades and fencing, but not before one of the runners stumbled over the front fender of my car, which was poking it's nose a little too far into the intersection beyond the crosswalk. The runner never saw it coming and neither did I. She slid across my hood, smearing her sweaty body across the silver paint, and then collapsed with a squeal in a heap at the front my car. I thought I had just killed an Austin marathoner, that is until she poked her head up from the ground to wave in apologetic fashion.

Funny thing, you won't believe this. She was wearing a tank top t-shirt with a picture of the Badass from Bryan-College Station standing in front of his truck, all covered with mud, save the confederate flag license plate which he had wiped clean for the shot. I offered to give her a ride to the hospital for good measure when I notice the photo screen-printed on her shirt. I think she thought I was staring at her boobs. I explained.

Well it turns out she has this friend who works in the used car business and said that really weird people are always showing up there because they don't do credit requests or criminal background checks. The dealership keeps an extra key to every car and maintains accurate records on where each car-buyer lives. So, when a payment doesn't come in, a car does instead. They just steal it back. When you walk onto this car lot all you need is a Blockbuster Video rental card to roll home in a citrously scented vehicle.

I told her I've been looking for a job that draws some odd ball characters into the picture for a short story collection that I'm hoping to begin this month. She offered me the job. All things work for the good I guess.