Jake and his cousin watched the cars and trucks roll by from an open bay of his uncle’s garage. They were sitting on a pile of tires, drinking warm cokes, trying to avoid doing anything productive.

“Ever think about where that road goes? Where those people go?” Jake asked.

Chugging the last of the soda from the can, his cousin gave half interested shrug in reply

“Out past the Starbucks and the liquor stores and the KFCs and all that crap, there’s an open road. And if you go far enough down that road, if you’re patient enough, you’ll hit the ocean.” Jake took a swig of his coke and licked his lips “I’ve never see the ocean.”

He looked over and his cousin was staring at him like he’d lost his mind.

“That’s Lamar, dummy. Ain’t a Starbucks on it. And if you’re fool enough to drive that far, the only place you’ll end up is Birmingham. Which ain’t anywhere near the ocean.”

His cousin crushed his empty coke can against his head, then got up to get another one.

“Maybe not, but it’s closer than here,” Jake said, when he was sure his cousin was out of earshot.

Memphis Note
It’s true, there are no Starbucks on Lamar. Which I think might make it the only road in America without one. And unfortunately, it won’t get you to the ocean. But, if you follow the signs in Birmingham, it’ll take you to another road that will.

When I left, I started in New England. Couldn’t take the cold, so I headed south. Down through the endless concrete sprawl into the mountains of Virginia and the Carolina low country.

I finally got to Florida and decided I was sick of the ocean, and struck out west. I crossed the Mississippi in New Orleans and cut north up through the Ozarks and into the prairie. Felt that was just like the ocean, only with grass, so I turned back west, into the desert.

I climbed the spine of the continent and I watched it snow on sulfur springs Yellowstone in the middle of July. I started to miss the roar of the ocean, so I followed the mountains back down to the water.

When the San Fransisco Bay wasn’t enough, I flew to Hawaii. A beautiful woman put a lei around my neck and kissed my cheek as I stepped off the plane. We got drunk at the foot of a volcano, watching lava roll into the black night.

After I’ve seen all that, there’s still no place that’s like Memphis.

What’s that line from the Beale Street Blues?

I’d rather be here, than any place I know.

Memphis Note
I’ve done all these things, with some fudging for literary license, and more. But I’ve never found another place I loved as much as I love this city. There really isn’t any place I’d rather be.