The Cross Section - RMB Blog

  The summer of 1994.  Kurt Cobain was dead.  I was in my second year at the University of Texas.  I took a test on rock and roll history the week Cobain had died. I wasn't bothered, but others in my class cried openly.  I finished the Spring semester and decided to stay in town for the summer and find work.  I worked with my friend and roommate who got me a landscaping job. Other than my friend T Jay, I worked alongside felons and illegal immigrants.  The felons told stories about distributing cocaine while working at Tyson chicken.  Skeptical.  Not skeptical.  The illegals all liked Selena, not so much for her music.  I lived just North of campus on Medical Arts Parkway.  It was a flea infested place with a failing AC in the middle of a Texas summer, brutal.  Mid-way through the summer T Jay moved back to my hometown when the felons we worked for decided not to pay us anymore.  After asking them a couple of times for the money they owed us, they left town.  It seemed like what a

  I hope I waited long enough to write this.  I have already had one bad turn since I was infected with the COVID virus.  But here I go, wanting to start getting this down while I am still feeling the effects. It all started on a Sunday morning.  I woke up with two things on my mind.  And only two.  I had to get up in front of my church and say a few words about why we give thanks to God.  I also had to get on a plane the next morning and spend the week away from home for work.  Everything started normally.  I went up on stage and said a few words, I talked to friends, and I helped pray for a friend who was moving out of town.  This friend had helped us start the church and been through a lot in life.  I put my hand on his shoulder as I prayed.  Like normal. What wasn't normal was how I started to feel sitting at What-A-Burger for lunch after getting my drink.  My lower back and hips ached and my energy level was obviously low.  At that point I knew I had COVID.  That's usually