81The Sentence Nobody Can Finish

High on the brick above 714 Austin — the building with the beautiful arched teal doors, a few doors from the Hippodrome — several generations of sign painters are quietly talking over each other. There's a looping script initial that still swings with total confidence. There are block capitals underneath it — you can make out LINE, maybe COL— something — and there, the sentence gives out. Every layer was once the loudest thing on the block. Together they've faded into a crossword with most of the clues missing.

Waco is rich in ghost signs — this trail already collects several — but this wall is the best place in town to see the layering, the way a busy street writes over itself decade after decade like a chalkboard nobody fully erases. Read it out loud if you can. Every visitor finishes the sentence differently, and every one of them is wrong, and there is no one left to say so.