Thursday, December 22, 2011
But things kept getting in the way. Mainly depositions. I used to sue car companies a lot, so I flew to Detroit a thousand times, but nothing ever took me to St. Louis. Things just kept me from going there.
Then along comes Rebecca, and cuts past all of that. She bought me the ticket, gave it to me on Christmas, a flat out surprise as we ate cinnamon rolls and drank coffee and filled the living room with wrapping paper. And somehow, in the next few weeks, I wrangled a free ticket out of Delta Airlines, and a cheap motel, and learned on line how to ride Metrolink, and how to walk, frozen, from Metrolink to the King Henry the Eighth Motel and then to Blueberry Hill.
The rest of it is all in this blog someplace or another. The rest of it is this blog: the whole thing is Rebecca's fault.
The name Rebecca only made it into one Chuck Berry song, and here it is. But in my world it's Delilah who's worried!