He wasn't talking to me and there was no one else around. Damnit, he followed me outside and saw my bumper stickers: "waterloo records" and "78704...more than a zip code, a way of life." Then he says to me, "I'd like to get back to Austin, but I have a good job here. Dallas has more plastic surgeons than real people. I mean, you could marry a good looking woman and end up with a mongoloid child."
Maybe that's what his dad did.