I met a guy last night who was working the door at a bar where Mitchel's band was playing. He checked my ID and saw that I was from Arkansas. "Man, what the FUCK you doin' here?" he asked. I wasn't ready for that question, so I told him I wasn't sure. "Arkansas! Man, FUCK Arkansas," he replied. I told him that I guess I agree, and he told me he was from Helena. Then I apologized for him being from Helena, even though I didn't have anything to do with that. "It's covered in kudzu these days," I said. "Dang, man," he replied. We talked for a few minutes about how there isn't a Church's Chicken or Popeye's around here, and argued the relative merits and shortcomings of each. I took Church's side, of course, but it wasn't a very objective or worthwhile argument.
He was the eighth black person I've seen since coming here, and the first that I've spoken to. His name is Romano.
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