But to back track, I think I was up to when I went to Shitsville. Now after I got out of the desert I spent a couple of weeks in Dallas and became very well versed in the ways of the Texas gent. Consequently I soon developed this intense desire to get as far away from humanity as was physically possibly. So that was when I bit the bullet and decided to head to Shitsville. Now Shitsville, TX was founded in the 1920s by my grandpappy Jack “Washington” Shitsville. Before that he had been in California & married his first wife, Miss Gloria Shitsville, who was a very beautiful lady & an excruciatingly bad extra in the 1925 Ben Hur, and has the distinction of being one of the very first aspiring mesdames in Hollywoodland to die unglamorously face down in the toilet. After Gloria kicked it my grandpappy Shitsville made a pot of money in the Florida boom by selling parcels of land that a quick glance at any map will tell you are geographically located about 3 miles off the coast of Florida, where the dolphins swim. He also had a knack for architecture, and designed a magnificent three story holiday mansion for some rich, rich, rich New York lady, but forgot to put any staircases in. Understandably he got run out of Florida by someone with a mighty shotgun and that is how he ended up in Texas. I suspect he was hoping to repeat his success with the abstract concept of landownership by building a few stucco houses and civic monuments around a patch of dirt and telling people the train would reach here one day & then Shitsville would really boom. Too bad the Depression hit & the train never came (…) And so that is how a lot of sexy Hollywood rejects & first time mom & pop investors ended up living in a town in the middle of the dustbowl, with a lovely courthouse that has no staircases in it, so you have to climb a ladder up to the top story. Seriously Jack Shitsville: what a bastard. But that is Texas for you.
There was a paved road for part of the way but the largest part was walking in dirt.