Right now I am enjoying my first Fat Tire of the trip. I’m at a Holiday Inn Express in Independence, Missouri. I arrived maybe two hours ago and made my reservation for Tulsa tomorrow night. This being Independence, and there being nothing at all to do here, I ate dinner at Hooters across the street. Over my wings and beer served I felt those first waves of road blues. Alas, they passed almost as quickly as I noticed they had arrived. I’ve got a TV and baseball and more booze so I can’t complain. Bubba Kadane wrote me back, he’s gonna call tomorrow after his jury duty to set up an appointment in Dallas.
Before bed last night in St. Louis I spent two hours writing in my typical quasi-poetic style that I have become accustomed to over the past six or so years. Two detailed pages later I passed out with one of the Naked Gun movies showing on TV. I woke up this morning and Brian hadn’t left for work yet. There was a plumber fixing something downstairs, and he was standing around impatiently. There was an envelope outside my door, a note from Lindsey telling me how happy she was that I chose to stay with them and all that mushy stuff. I wrote a response before I showered and placed it just inside the front door. I took my time getting dressed and packing my things. I left the house and called Lindsey to thank her again and tell her it was OK to arm the alarm, I was out of the house.
The drive into the city was easy. I exited at the Wash. U. exit and drove past Forest Park and the zoo on my way to Delmar Blvd. I parked in a public lot that was incredibly cheap. The Boulevard is lined with stars dedicated to Saint Louis natives, much like a walk-of-fame. I took photos of the ones that were most meaningful to me, including TS Eliot, William Burroughs and Chuck Berry. I walked through some record stores and into a clothing store called Rag-o-Rama where I got some new old t-shirts so that I can go longer without doing laundry. I’m slowly adding to my growing collection of souvenirs from each city, a t-shirt that says something ironic or stupid about each location. I’ll wear them with pride.
I stopped at Blueberry Hill and walked through the place. The pathway to the bathrooms is lined with photographs of those who have passed through the joint over the years. I chose to immortalize only the classiest of these people: Peaches and Mignon. There was a huge display case dedicated to old Simpsons toys, and one for startlingly few Futurama toys. Before I sat down at the bar between two other patrons. One of them was a young black man, the other and old white guy who instantly engaged me in conversation. When I told him I was a writer driving across country he launched into his life story. Actually it was more like his wife’s life story. He called it a “riches to rags” story and spoke about how she once lived in the most expensive house in all of Saint Louis, but after her parents died she was left with nothing and Chuck Berry purchased the house. The story is way more involved than that, but I don’t feel like transcribing it because the guy (named Douglas) was a total nut case. When he paid his tab and left the black guy turned to me and started telling me how crazy he was and how I saved him from the conversation by sitting between them. Then the bartender strolled over and began talking about him, too. We three bonded over the nut case, Douglas.
I had a cheeseburger and drank some beer. They had Blue Moon on tap so I got a pint. They had Boulevard Wheat (a Kansas City brew) on tap, and Schlafly (a Saint Louis Brew) on tap, so I had pints. Needless to say, I needed to walk around a little more before I started my drive. Of course, on my walk I found a liquor store that sold Fat Tire so I reveled in my discovery.
The drive was pretty easy. Although in the first ten minutes it started pouring sheets of rain and traffic literally stopped dead for five minutes. With the speed limit changed to 70 I could fly for extended periods and passed nary a patrol car the entire drive. After crossing the Missouri River, I arrived maybe 4 and a half hours after I left. That takes us back to the beginning. Sitting. Digesting wings. Drinking more. I’m sensing a pattern will emerge in these cities where I know no souls and have no interviews or commitments.
music listened to today:
spiritualized – royal albert hall 10 october 1997 live
wire – pink flag
calla – televise
talking heads – stop making sense
magnolia electric co. – what comes after the blues
beulah – the coast is never clear
