June 20, 2002

SO I DROVE to Memphis, where I’m now ensconced in a luxury suite at the Peabody. I stopped for gas in Bucksnort, Tennessee (yes, that’s a real town, just west of Dickson and just east of Loretta Lynn’s Dude Ranch) where the gas station was advertising calling cards that offered 6.5 cent per minute calls to Mexico. Immigration: it’s everywhere, even in Bucksnort.

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