The Memphis dive bar scene is legendary, but not many people know that. We went out every night, and something zany or insane happened every night.
The P&H, or Poor & Hungry, Cafe looks both poor and hungry. The whole building looks like it would be the first thing to blow away in a tornado.
Maybe it was the way she said patty, but the patty melt won. We asked if she could cut ours into thirds. She smiled. I wondered how long she’d worked there and been forced to listen to stupid shit like this.
The only guy not wearing a hoodie was bald, and his entire face and scalp were tattooed with coiling black snakes.
She looked at me with big, childlike eyes and made a pouty face. I could tell she was about to say…. something.
We really wanted to work the river into our weeklong stay, but that would prove more difficult than we imagined. As usual, day drinking solved the problem.
Memphis just wants to be happy doing what Memphis does. Memphis feels a little sorry for you if you see it any other way.