One week ago. Houston International Airport. The endless line of wheelchairs on the gangplank as we exited the aircraft was the first sign of things to come. After a week in England, where I literally saw no wheelchairs, people movers, guns or obesity, here in Texas things were different. This was an eight-foot guitar/sculpture entitled 'Final Approach,' and no doubt commissioned for an absurd amount of money:

My alternate title: 'This One Needs Repair.' Note diamond-tread pickguard and high string popping out of the nut:

After writing some scathing impressions of Houston (and by extension the U.S., from being outside for a week) based solely on airport observations, I boarded the next flight, to Portland. A couple of Houston locals I met (on each flight) so defied my juvenile and shallow observations as to humble me completely. This is the importance of travel. But that guitar still needs repair.