ceciliatan

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

Court and I got on a crack of dawn flight, which as you can guess was not my favorite thing. Business class was all we could get, which was fine. I declined the bloody mary they offered me when we boarded and slept the whole way to Tennessee. I honestly don’t remember whether we flew into Nashville or Memphis or what.

I do remember that at the airport, Court had an argument with the woman working the rental car counter. Like a lot of arguments, it didn’t really make sense. The rental car agent was a rather thin, middle-aged woman with graying roots and her hair back in a bun tied with a bow that matched her floppy uniform tie. She looked at Courtney’s drivers license, then handed it back, and the argument went something like this: