He picked me up at six, and we headed for Birmingham, against the nocturnal flow of subdivision-bound escapees. The Town Hall looks more like the Parthenon than a town hall. Radio One's ass. Cheers all around. Midway through the show, the Dukes vacate the stage, leaving Earle alone with an acoustic guitar and harmonica.
Earle stops dead.
Earle plays the opening riff, then stops again. I thought I was a long way from home. By this time humiliation and the fear of being beat up by the main attraction has enabled me to shut up. I find myself desperately wishing all those Little Texas fans could be here. I want to fly in the Swiss Family Confederate, get them vaccinated against the Nashvirus for life.