Logistics must be confronted though. I am in fact an old man standing on the shoulder of a highway as traffic, mostly truckers, goes whizzing past. I am a visitor in this time dimension. Get us beer and a bourbon, you fool' he says and disappears. I trudge back past the city limits toward town and stop at the first roadhouse I come to, a ramshackle and neon barnboard dump that is mostly parking lot.
Signs promise lap dancing and good eats.
I push through the saloon doors to the smoky air and strip music and pause to let my eyes adjust. I have no idea whether my money is legal tender. He looks at it for a second, grins and it disappears. The bar is virtually empty, most of the customers at the tables watching the floorshow which is entirely big breasted woman who look like they might have been farm-girls. Their faces are frozen in an attempt at sexiness but instead look tired.