I'd made the leap from writing for local rags to selling feature articles to the national magazines. I'd landed myself in the pages of Esquire. I'd even been published in the mighty New Yorker. Travel had come to me, attention, publicity, parties, all of it. At thirty, I was suddenly making and spending money in a way I never had. Wild and lusty Austin, my adopted hometown, was the perfect place for the mood I was in; the arrogance of my new success was a giant that followed me through the nightlife everywhere. And why shouldn't it? I was a normal guy enjoying what I'd earned. When Playboy ran my byline on a story about the backstage scene at City Limits, a Chamber of Commerce rep started giving me VIP passes to all the big events. Soon after, at a private rooftop party at the Belmont on 6th, I found myself at the end of the bar, drunk, well dressed, grinning. It was late October, the weather was mild, the stars were out, and at long last I was somebody. Standing before me was a beautiful girl.
