I was down in East Nashville in the afternoon for coffee. We had, must have been, two inches of rain in mere minutes earlier. Downtown Madison instantly flooded. Moms driving SUVs pulled over on Briley. Now, on my way home, back in Madison, light rain, it was suddenly dark. Turned the clocks back this week.
I decided not to do any shopping but just head straight down Neelys Bend.
Coming up on the Mapco, thoughts of something sweet entered my consciousness. I thought, “It’s Friday. I could get a couple of Lotto tickets. Yes. I won’t be out again.” So, before exiting Neelys, I slowed, left acrost Neelys, and glided into the far-right spot against the chain-link fence.
Now, nicotine, speaking softly from just out of sight. “Just one,” it said. “Just this evening. You might do a bit more work.”
No one will recognize me at the Mapco, down Neelys, on Friday evening, buying sweets in a gas station, and standing in line to purchase Lotto Tickets, and nicotine whispering in my ear.
In front of me, a young man, of the type you see in Tennessee, tall, thin, broad shoulders, Carhartt pocket T, cowboy boots, trucker’s cap. He was buying wine, I see.
Two bottles of Tennessee Gas Station Cabernet.
And a six-pack of peppermint Zyn.
