Listen closely, and you can hear ghosts of the not-too-distant past in conversation:
“This place is real authentic. Almost like being in Texas—’cept for no illegals.”
“Naw, they got ’em working in the kitchen.”
“They better not be harborin’ no illegals here. I’m gonna call the sheriff and have ’em deported.”
“Then who they gonna get to work for dirt wages?”
“Get some kids in there or sumpin’. There’s a bunch of lazy Blacks on welfare ’round here that needa be working too.”
“They’d probably have to raise the prasses. You know all them wokes are demandin’ a livin’ wage these days.”
“Shee-et, that ain’t my problem.”
“It sure as hell ain’t mine.”
“That waitress is being too fuckin’ slow. I ain’t leavin’ her a tip. I’m gonna write ‘Jesus saves’ on the receipt instead.”
“That’s a tip that’ll last her for eternity.”
“Amen. Where the hell is my fishbowl margarita?”
