Hey, Bobby. That man needs some sun.
“You should see him up close. He’s the color of truck stop sushi.”
Truck stops have sushi?
“They have everything now. Truck stops have improved at an astonishing rate over the course of my lifetime. Used to be there were communal showers and real ugly hookers and the cafes served a dish called pastahoochie that you could only get at truck stops.”
“It was like chop suey with a reddish sauce that was advertised as Italian in origin. Usually there was some beef in there. Beef byproducts, maybe. This was the old days, remember: sometimes, you got byproducts.”
“Only at truck stops, though. But now there’s chain restaurants and everything. There’s stops out there so big there’s room for competing brands. Like, you got a McDonald’s and a Burger King. That’s the big tent Reagan was talking about.”
If you say so.
“They got four haircutting bays. The barbershop is a rectangle, right? Customer seats along the long sides, waiting are in the front, shampoo stations in the back.”
Yeah, Bobby. A barbershop.
“Four of ’em. Lined up. And busy, too. I’ll match our truck stops up with China’s best any day of the week.”
I don’t know, man. China builds big and she keeps laying down highway. There are bound to be some gigantic stops over there.
“Sure, yeah. But can you buy an assault rifle at any of them?”
“Freedom wins again.”
Will you yell at your bandmates, the werewolf and the disgraced surfing instructor, for dressing too casually?
“No. I’m, uh…no.”