Pulled in to this place recently in tiny Hawley, TX, along US 83 north of Abilene, ready for a breakfast as only places like this can do them. Inside there were nine men, middle-aged or better, arranged around three nearby tables, all talking with each other. Each wore overalls, cowboy boots and long-sleeved shirts.
And each sported a well-worn baseball cap.
Dressed in my normal tennis shoes, shorts and T-shirt and carrying a book, I headed to a table at the back and settled in. They all looked my way.
Must have been because I didn’t have a hat on.