I’m passing over Alligator Creek, though I don’t know why they call it that. I rub my eyes as quilts of dark-grey clouds begin to disperse. “Maybe I’ll take a look under the bridge,” I think as wind from a semi-truck nearly blows me off the road. I didn’t know river monsters could navigate rapids.

There’s a beer barn with a giant golden-yellow-and-red star in all its glory pointing up at the sky, but I don’t bother to stop. A maze of detour signs and bulldozers lie ahead. Concrete dust and ringing sound of a jackhammer float lazily through the humid air at the end of an aging neighborhood. An orange-polka-dot construction fence signals the end of the line.

I turn around and slowly creep through dying wooden houses. If I go any faster, the chipped-white paint may blow clean off the front walls.

*Click here to continue reading on the San Marcos Corridor News


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