Word: mattes
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...Andrew said, offering Matt his fist. “28!” And they commenced with their customary pound. (Every time they entered a new state, Matt and Andrew consecrated the moment by touching fists.) A few minutes later, Matt plugged in the radio adapter they’d bought for their iPod and hit play. Slow piano filled with the car, and then Marc Cohen’s voice, and then the drums: “Put on my blue suede sho-oes, …touch down in the land of the De-elta blues?...
...weeks earlier, driving into Las Vegas, Matt and Andrew had played “Luck Be a Lady.” In Arizona, Matt had steered them temporarily off course into Winslow, where he’d stood on a street corner as their stereo blasted the Eagles’ “Take it Easy.” Then he asked Andrew to take his picture. Days later, “Sweet Home Alabama” would welcome us to Birmingham. For purposes of cultural immersion, pop radio is often sufficient, in its limited, capitalist way. After all, even...
...spent at the site of Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination, we jumped out of our hotel and into a cab, instructing the driver to take us to Beale Street. He obliged, and gave us a tour along the way. The city, like many Matt and Andrew visited, is in the process of trying to revitalize its downtown. Unlike many cities they visited, however, in Memphis the project actually seemed to be working...
...Yeah,” a petite blonde woman named Erin told Matt and Andrew later that night, in a bar called the Blues City Café. “I was supposed to have my bachelorette party here too.” She laughed. “I didn’t make it past dinner...
...where we’d been greeted by the bouncer, an enormous man in a black leather vest and a long skinny ponytail that fell greasily onto his back. The band didn’t look much different: their hair all long, frizzy, and pulled back into awkward ponytails. Matt and Andrew exchanged skeptical looks. “They look like they should be members of the Dungeons and Dragons club or something,” Andrew whispered...