Life is different in the South. Here up North, I need a background check and at least three references before I’ll trust you enough to even start a conversation. Down South though, it’s the opposite. I don’t know if it was the Moonshine I had for breakfast…
…or the disarming southern charm that people have in Tennessee, but twenty minutes after meeting “Bob” we were in a car driving him graveyard to graveyard.
Sure, at one point I wondered how the hell I ended up standing on private property, by an 1800’s graveyard, overlooking a beautiful river with a George W. Bush look alike. But Bob’s soothing southern drawl reassured me that trespassing was okay as long as you didn’t hear bullets flying.
And I’ll admit, as I stood there staring at a cemented grave site listening to stories about grave robbers, I wondered if I’d made a bad decision. But then Bob was all “Ya’ll wanna go see another graveyard? It’s got an amazing military memorial.” and I was all “That’d be super.”
All we really wanted to do was talk to Bob about some property he had for sale, but somehow we ended up at his parents graves, consoling him while he tried to sell us some burial plots next to his grandparents. I was going to tell him that I’m actually going to become a tree after I die, but I didn’t want to sound weird.
We spent about three hours with Bob, and learned about the area we’ll eventually call home. After we drove him to all the places he wanted to see, he tried to charge us twenty bucks for the “tour.” I figured it cost us about that much in gas to lug his ass around the mountain roads, so we called it even.
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