Spring Break 1

I’m writing from Austin (like, in Texas) on my spring break. I thought of Texas as the Southwest, but it’s as green and humid as any place in North Carolina. Terrarium humid. Four people sharing a bathroom humid. My hair’s never had so much volume; my skin’s never had so many bumps.

I drove with Scott, my life’s great love, and while I say “I drove with” when it really means “I drove two hours of the 18 hour trip,” when I say “life’s great love” I am quite serious.

Anyway.

We stopped in Memphis for the night. I had relatives in Memphis when I was a kid, and I thought I remembered the city or at least seeing anything distinctive about it ever. No. When I saw a big-ass black pyramid traced into the night skyline like a technical drawing, I seriously thought I was having an episode. Fortunately Scott has seen the big-ass pyramid and talked me down.

We stayed at the King’s Court Motel, which looked sketch from far away, but respectable a little closer, and then VERY sketch from close up. The room had a bed and a shower, so basic requirements are met, but it takes a special man to end a ten hour drive with a sense of humor about black mildew in the bathroom and a TV with the power button gone. G-O-N-E. I stuck my paint key (cos I have a paint key on my keychain, cos I am art department and hardcore) in the hole where the button used to be, but there wasn’t no nothing to press. I have found the abyss. It is in your TV, right next to the volume buttons.

Anyway, we went to King’s Cascade Restaurant? Recommended by a friend of mine who’s a real-life-liver-in-Memphis. And it was DUH. LISHUS. And you know something about Beale Street? There’s live music. Everywhere. Like, twice in the same restaurant. Like, a guy playing guitar outside, and then a guy playing guitar inside. Then you go across the street, and there’s two guys playing dueling pianos. TWICE THE STANDARD AMOUNT OF LIVE MUSIC.

I lost my phone. This is what comes of wearing low-rise stretch cords from Plato’s closet with little shallow pockets that can’t hold a phone when you drop trou in a gas station bathroom. BE WARNED! If a miracle doesn’t happen in the next day or so, it’s off to Verizon to make hound-dog eyes at the salesperson. I’m due for a free phone in October — I can have one now, right? Right?

More to come…

Tory

Draws. Sweats. Eats too much sugar-free candy.

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