Picture it: Texas. August 1998. A sticky hot air had been born that morning, giving way to an even hotter afternoon. There I was, minding my own business as I drove down the street, when suddenly a neon arrow as big as a building glared out at me like my friend Gladys' front teeth. The sign was pointing at a window just below it. There, painted in bright red letters, were the words, "Drive Thru Liquor Here!" It was the darndest thing! I swear!