"Remember Sleep Talkin' Man? The blog? Where he mutters all those pirate things in his sleep? He says, 'You can't be a pirate if you haven't got a beard. MY boat, MY rules.'"
"What are you saying?"
"You can't drive the car if you haven't got a beard," I said blatantly.
"I'll grow one," he said, grinning.
I glared teasingly, not sure of his response.
A week later, he had the beginnings of a beard. Thus, I was not allowed to drive the car. To quote A.: "You can't drive the car if you haven't got a beard. MY car. MY rules."
And so, he drove us to Memphis. And to Mississippi. And to Atlanta and South Carolina and Asheville and back.
I had never been to the state of Arkansas prior to this trip, so we stopped at a rest stop just over the border.
At a gas station, there were five separate signs for fried chicken.
The LEGO-style gas station at which fried chicken was sold.
We arrived at our hotel around dinnertime. Our hotel was in a bad area of town, and had a "pimp-mobile" parked in the lot. Our our room had a spectacular view of abandoned buildings, however.
Nothing says "scenic" like stray cats and trash.
There was a lovely pool area, however. (And by lovely, I mean "obviously not swim-able.")
For dinner, A. and I headed downtown, to Beale Street.
We embraced our inner tourists and ate at Hard Rock Cafe.
Outside, I was distracted by many a neon light.
That's Elmo at the bottom.
Nothing says Memphis like a green party bus and a goat on a lift.
...more shiny lights...I oohed and ahhed as if watching a fireworks display.
Then this guy showed up.
The "creepy building" loomed out of the darkness back at our hotel. (Our room also happened to have a cockroach in it--something that A. decided to keep from me--for good reason--until we left the next morning.)