Out in the endless expanse of the West Texas horizons lies a tiny town of minimalist dreams. Donald Judd wanderings by day and sinking Lone Stars at the Lost Horse Saloon in the cold evenings. A damsel sings her distress on an old microphone while the old cowboys tip their hats to the pretty girls that have rolled in from the cities. Marfa you are both nearly nothing, but almost everything. I need to come back.