sweet t:

I could describe the Cooper-Young Festival, named for the revitalized city neighborhood in which I live, how proud they are of their zip code (they even sell 38104 t-shirts) and the pomegranate punch that knocked my socks off and the way they sold catfish sandwiches and 12 inch corn dogs, or I could mull over what happened at the Thai restaurant, why the woman who served us turned unfriendly after a whispered interaction with a overweight burkaed woman and her double-sized mate over dessert options, and why I was happy to see an oversized posed photograph of the Queen of Thailand instead of the same old Buddha/lotus/temple scenes, and how that tofu peanut sauce dish I ordered was so good and why when Jim didn’t like his whole wheat tofu (which isn’t actually tofu) with mushrooms and I tried to eat it, knowing I would hate how earthy it tasted, knowing I haven’t the makings for food martyrdom.  Instead, I’ll just show the bridge over the Mississippi, one of several in Memphis, this one shines at night and is named for the explorer who is said to be buried in that same river.  I’ll just stop writing and let the bridge stand in for words.