Day Seven

Day Seven hasn't quite started yet and already I've had an adventure.

Betty is sleeping.  I threw my coat on over my pajamas and drove to McDonald's to get a coke to go with my Advil (stiff neck from driving).  McDonalds was closed, so I went to the Satsuma Chevron.

The owners, Bill and his wife, were making breakfast.  "We're fixing to feed about 500 people," Bill told me.

He gave me a sample--and it was, hands down, the best breakfast I've had this entire trip: red Creole gravy on buttery grits with eggs and sausage.

"I'd say you're from Michigan," he said.  "Hey, Honey--where do you think she's from?"

"Not Michigan," she said, both sizing me up.

"Well, you're educated, probably a liberal, the kind of woman who could write a book," Bill said.

So after we'd talked a bit and gotten the geography straight, I asked Bill how he knew so much about me, even though he was far off on Michigan.  "I'm a retired Marine and I've always been good about profiling people," he said.  "I just thought Michigan before you started talking."

"Even with your pajamas and cool green shoes, I could tell you were a writer," he said.  "Not murder mysteries, but probably fiction or books about the South."

"Yeah," his wife agreed.  "But not cooking kinds of books, something more like nature and landscapes and people."

SO--I'm going to go back to sleep now, hoping not to wake Betty, then later see if she wants to stop by the Satsuma Chevron for some Creole breakfast and personality profiling, then start my five-hour drive to Lawrenceville.