Austin

Your friend turned 24 and decided to celebrate in Texas. It was a strange place for a celebration, you told him, but he wanted to ride horses and get a taste of Texas. You argued, suggesting a proper club or at least a bar. He wouldn't listen. He was stubborn.

So he gathered a small group: you, a couple of mutual friends, and his girlfriend. Everyone piled into the car and headed to Texas. His friend said he had some friends there and it would be fun. You rolled your eyes, but off you went—what else could you do?

So you arrived. You rode horses. Your friend was smiling contentedly, his girlfriend was laughing, and you were even starting to relax. Texas turned out to be a less silly place.

He said: “Now we’ll sit in the bar and then go home to sleep.”

So you walk into a bar. Wooden walls, the smell of old wood and tobacco. You order a Lone Star—a beer called the national drink of Texas. And a Chilton—a refreshing cocktail of lemon, soda, and vodka.

A friend invited a couple of acquaintances over to spend the night with you. They arrived fifteen minutes later. You didn't pay them much attention—you were minding your own business, sipping beer, and listening to music from an old jukebox.

But one caught my attention. A blond man in a brown hat. He was actually quite handsome. Just like on the covers.

You've already started drinking straight from the bottle—whiskey that someone brought from across the bar. Your throat burns, your head is buzzing, but you hold on. And then he—the blond guy in the hat—looks right at you, smiles, and says:

If you drink whiskey straight from the bottle, be prepared to ride a wild mustang at night without a saddle or safety harness.

Your friends burst out laughing, some of them choked.