The southern heat hit me as I got off the train. It must have been 115 degrees. A wet 115 degrees. Northerners like me don’t do that kind of heat. It felt like the sun was visiting Virginia and came via the sewer.

I was down there for business a few days ago. A small town. Real small. When I got off the train I didn’t know which direction to walk. I spotted a man sitting on the bench inside the station. I call it a station but it’s not really a station. It’s more like they put a roof on top of the place where the train stops.

The man I asked for directions had a big belly, perfectly parted gray hair, and a furry mustache. If you were making a movie about an old time Southern lawyer, this was your guy. He looked out the window for a moment and then gave me perfect directions. I mean, he didn’t just tell me how to get to the street. He told me about the street. Everything he knew about it. And he told me everything about the things that if I saw, it would mean I’d gone too far. And then in case I did go too far he gave me directions from the possible places where I might get lost.

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