Tonight in Chattanooga, my wife and I stop at Jazz Junction so that we can relax, have some drinks, listen to some music. But Jazz Junction is gone. Instead there is (fashionably enough) a sushi-steakhouse.
Okay, so we decide to give once historic and locally-owned Read House, now a Sheraton, a chance. But the small bar inside is dead, no music. The host suggests a karaoke bar down by the river, a hot tourist area. Or there's the teeny bar that just opened across the river, with soft drinks.
Maybe it's midlife, but we decide to settle at a table in a cafe at the Sheraton. Before we do, we are hit up by a tall handsome black man with grey hair. He's trying to retrieve enough money to buy a serpentine belt for his car. He offers a reciept whose date appears to have been changed a couple of times. I'm suspicious but would like to help the guy anyway. We give him a few bucks. He asks (characteristically in this con) if he could get our address to pay us back. We decline.
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