From gran ol' opry land . Here. Winter wonderland on doorstep leaves turned sweet brown orange. Last day left behind a night at bb king's , smell ol smoke of bb cue, a dishwater blond waitress, looking opt the window past, reflection of yesteryear how everything same as before, boots a plenty spectacular colors match the softness of waning colors of a hill side long forgotten, Percy though six hundred for a pair, pass don't have sixty left after Graceland in Memphis and Loretta lynns ranch, winding roads for ever as they all like circuitry permanently layer down, for the sake of eternity.
Then, now the snow capped mounts of Utah, Main Street like no other, or like everyone. Don't know what to expect, she wants to move on, not stay in this cabin, but always the green grass, on the other side beckoning. Can do, saying, but going on nevertheless, backing tumbling, when in my room in Minneapolis, entrenched in a private world, red neon Chinese laundry down stairs, fillegree bars beckoning saloons of more rugged past with saw dust and peanuts , Babette blue ribbon and joe Tex on juke box for twenty five cents, whisks of smoke through blue haze of more to come.