So we did that. My wife and I loaded up the car and rolled northbound up Interstate 55. To the heartland of the New American Noir.
We split the drive into pieces. Got to a truck stop fireworks stand just after someone had tried to rob the quarter-drop gambling machine it had next to the Jesus Tee's.
Got a few winks at cheap motel somewhere in Darkansas. Almost made into Louis before an 18-wheeler blew itself up and caught fire to six lanes of traffic. Almost.
2 hours of detour later we made it just in time to head to the reading...
WHICH WAS TOTALLY FUCKING AWESOME.
Jed Ayres was great on the MC. Keaton rolled in just in the nick. Highlander was present and accounted.
And the readers: Scott Phillips was a pleasure to meet. Jack Ryan and Clayton Lindemuth were awesome. House Benedict brought down the rafters, both Lord and Lady. And McBride: that son of a bitch rolled right in at the last minute and dropped an ax murder to close out the night.
We beered and burgered at Blueberry Hill. Talked shop til the wee. I knew about that thing before you alls did. So neener.
Slept. Late for once in life. Got up. Saw the arch. Toured a brewery. Saw a wax Obama and Hulk and hit the road. Ate some Amish sausage. Slept in a Drury. Made it to the grandparents. Picked up the toddler. And finally rode on home.
And holy shit I'm still tired.
Anheuser-Busch, St. Louis, MO, will ship its coldest beer right to the kwik stop across the street from my neighborhood. And I can drink it in all its Gateway Glory from the amazing comfort of my coastal southern home by my fireplace and holler at you folks with my internets just fine.
No Amish sausage here, though. And that's a bummer.
Anyway, buy 16 TONS. Buy it this week on Kindle and email me your confirmation and I'll mail you a signed copy of the paperback free of all charges. Say pretty please and I'll pull a Keaton and stick a random DVD in there.