I might easily be mistaken for a Texan.
This is the first karma cookie that I like and that I find it fits me.
Spoiler:
The first first-hand hint I had of Texas and Texans was back in 75. I was in Mexico City on top of one of those pyramids, amidst a bunch of tourists, mostly Germans and French. Reflexes, running shoes, fancy post-hippy clotheries.
A guy stood out from the inane crowd. Lanky, with hawk eyes, discolored shirt hanging loosely on a parsimonious frame. An old fashioned camera (an old Leica on close inspection) in a leather case with those narrow leather straps. A pale blue graysh shirt, not one of those greenish one that Her Majesty subjects carry when on the road, I suspect for delayed washing tactics. Something inside me said. Texan. And years later, in Austin, I recognized that style as vintage.
Everybody is ready to take any job to live in the merry town of San Francisco, so kind and sweet. But Austin. What a place. More on Texas and Texans when I feel like.