The sun is shining in Montgomery. The river is a mirror. The sky is cloudless. The downtown couldn’t look better if it were gold plated.
I’m a sentimental little thing. I make it a point to visit Hank Williams at his perch, overlooking Montgomery when I’m in town. Today, there was a blue jay sitting on his head, that has to be a good sign.
My wife and I are only passing through town for an early supper. We are on the road for three weeks, living in our old Dodge Durango.
And I’ll tell you the truth, I’m in heaven. I could be on the road forever, eating from coolers, watching sunsets, making new friends.
We’ve had this Dodge for years. The old girl is running ragged, but she’s a special vehicle.
Long ago, I bought this old thing from a newspaper ad. My wife needed a car in a bad way. We’d been sharing my truck for a whole summer—which wasn’t all that bad.
Our workdays all went
the same: she would drop me off at my job, then head to work. At the end of the day, I’d stand by the curb with a lunchbox. Mama Bear would arrive. I’d jump in.
Then, we would drive to the local Pizza Hut.
Pizza Hut was our place. Back then, it still had an all-you-can-eat grease buffet. My friend, Matt, worked behind the counter.
In another life, Matt and I were friends. As younger men, we would entertain ourselves by driving secluded beach roads after dark. We would search for stranded tourists whose vehicles were stuck in the sand.
We’d hook chains to their axles and save the day. Some folks offered to pay us, but we refused money. And we used unnaturally deep voices on the off-chance we might impress any girls in the area.
That’s how Matt met…