There was but one route to the Extension, and it led through the very heart of Burkburnett; there were no detours around the town, no way of beating the traffic, therefore vehicles, no matter how urgent their business, were forced to fall in line and allow themselves to be carried along like chips in a stream of tar.
"Burk" was a one-story town, or at least most of its buildings projected only one story above the mud, and that mud was mixed with oil.

Leakage from wells, pipe lines, storagetanks, had made the mass underfoot doubly foul and sticky, and where it was liquid it shone with iridescent colors.

Mud was everywhere; on the sidewalks, inside the stores, on walls and signboards, on the skins and clothing of the people.
Through the main street the procession of cars plowed, then out across the railroad tracks and toward the open country beyond.

When it came to a halt, as it frequently did, above the hum of idle motors could be heard the clank of pumps, the fitful coughing of gasengines, the hiss of steam.

This, of course, was soon drowned in a terrific din of impatient horns, a blaring, brazen snarl at the delay.