Armarillo Texas. A town plagued by the Disneyland of steaks and cheap cowboy boots. Fast food cement sprawl that went on farther then the horizon. A seemingly soulless town, an anywhere city, an urban planners nightmare with streets intercepting with no common sense rhythm or reason. I want to say more, but after watching lean and mean Josh stuff himself full of 59 oz of corn fed American beef last night and fail because the clock struck 60 minutes with only 11 oz left on his plate, I can only cringe and pray there is a cow heaven where they bathe in 75 degree sunlight on green grassy knolls all day.
Amarillo is a city of diversity, with the local elementary school speaking a variety of 93 languages. Such potential for a cultural awesomeness, but instead I found every chain store and fast food joint imaginable. Refugees, immigrants, hard working families in search of the American dream flock to this town nestled in the heart of Tyson meat packing plant and other slaughter, fed, and meat packaging factories to find work of shipping your furry dinner around the country.
Today we did not build, but tore apart a house to its bare bones. 33 people, 7 hours, and that house was gutted down to the smell of old cigarettes. A foreclosed house to be revamped into one mans dream home to raise his kids and family. He was a Burma refugee struggling to find a better life for his family. I guess even in the worst feed lot America could produce nothing compares to some of the stories he would share.
