My wanderlust is calling me once more… This time, the call is amplified by the logistical difficulties of the local dating scene and the large transfer bonus from my employer. I’ll depart for Tampa in only 83 hours and hopefully never return to this small rural Texan town that I’ve called home last year.

When I first moved to the outskirts of Fort Worth, I’d thought my Texan experience would be filled with wacky shenanigans the likes of which can only be experienced in the South. I thought I’d document them in great and hilarious detail and publish a bestseller titled “The Adventures of a Siberian in Texas: Yeehaw, Comrade!”

Alas, that wasn’t meant to be. There were no cacti, no armadillos, no wacky accents… Hell, I haven’t even managed to convince any locals to go cow-tipping, even though there’s a cow pasture just a mile away from my house. As much fun as it was to observe cheeseburgers in their natural habitat, it’s time to move on now.

I’ve had no great and noteworthy adventures in Texas, but just for the sake of posterity, here are some impressions of the Lone Star State from yours truly: cowboy-themed districts filled with Chinese goods; terrible dog owners; snow in San Antonio; Siberia-like landscapes; roads designed by M.C.Escher; cops who don’t understand laws of physics; trains… so many trains; a giant rat devouring roadkill in the middle of the night in the middle of the highway in the middle of nowhere; trading fireflies for broken unicorns; children with too much time and too many eggs; sector F8; lectures on theology; going to Church on Sundays; sushilessness.

So it goes.