Memphis and The King

Waiting for the hotel van driver in Memphis, TN. One of those rare weeks where I'm allowed to work day shift. Memphis isn't so bad in the daylight. All the shittums are asleep after the night's marauding, leaving only the few productive souls left in this ghost town to scurry between rocks and buildings, trying to eek out a life.

A crackhead aggressively tried to clean my windshield at the West Memphis Pilot truck stop last night. I angrily waved him off, not wanting to be bothered with his crackhead bullshit nonsense. He took the hint, thankfully. The last thing I wanted was to be presented with an open, expecting hand after he gave me a service I didn't want.

There's a picture of young, thin Elvis in front of Graceland here in the lobby. Somehow I don't think today's Memphis is the same city it was when he was alive. Then again, I guess a lot of Memphis has adopted some of Elvis' habits, though on a much tighter budget. I can't imagine Elvis offering to wash windshields at a truck stop.

You know what? Given the magnitude of his habit, maybe it was best he went out when he did. Elvis selling Taco Bell might've been the showbiz equivalent of squeegie duty. Maybe Memphis should celebrate The King knowing when to bow out...on the toilet...with a kilo of coke crusted into his mustache with a mushy stick of butter.

I'll see you around.