We both totally dread the drive from Texas to Memphis. Catholics believe that after you die and before God decides what to do with you, you go to a place called Purgatory to hang out while you wait. Protestants call this place Arkansas.*
The roads are awful, it’s hot, and as a result people are mean. Or drunk and not at all concerned about the lives of others. In any case driving through AR is terrifying and we were grateful to be done with it. We did manage to find a nice deli called Julie’s in Texarkana (on the Texas side of course) so we had a good lunch and were on our way.

Welcome to Tennessee! The weather was good for driving. Hotter than hell but dry and clear but wait, hold on, what was that?
Oh, you mean we ran over some shit in the road back there in Arkansas and now there’s a huge bolt in the tire? Sweet!
Just after dinner in Memphis (we found a place called Huey’s that was inoffensive) the tire pressure light came on causing us to panic and pull off to see about it. This was the first of many exits in Tennessee to offer gas, porn and more porn.
We found the culprit, put air in the tire and went on. The blasted light would not go off so we stopped again and this time we bought some Fix-A-Flat. It took a little while and one more stop to top off the air but the tire pressure was holding so we went on to Nashville and checked into the hotel.
The next morning bright and early we called AAA who sent a very nice man to put on the spare and direct us to the nearest tire hospital who couldn’t patch the tire but could sell us a brand new one of course. Off again!

We arrived in D.C. at around 8:30 and had a lovely dinner and visit with Virginia and Ben. But wait, something feels disturbingly familiar and not in a good way. Oh I know, it’s 500 fucking degrees here. What?! Seriously, it’s hotter in D.C. than it was at home and that was part of the point of moving!
I better wake up to a different situation or there’s going to be hell to pay and I mean that in the nicest way because I love D.C. more than just about anywhere. Don’t make me pull out my cooler full of Lone Star.


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The devil is in the details.

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