Into Your Arms
September 4th was, by any other account, a Saturday like any before. I woke at dawn, well prior to Abbi and the girls, rolled out of bed, and tip-toed down the steps. I brewed a cup of coffee (half and half, teaspoon of sugar in the raw), cracked the front door quietly, and stepped outside.…
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Into The South, Part 3
I burst through the doors of Fame Studios like a deer in headlights: wide-eyed, disoriented, and out of breath. I’d stumbled through a side door just seconds prior, and been rebuffed and redirected by a cluster of young, handsome, chain-smoking rock ‘n rollers. I blew unwittingly past the studio’s matriarch, Linda Hall, beneath a hand-painted…
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Into The South, Part 2
“10 bucks for parking,” I thought. “Of course.” The lot was shimmering like a National Guitar: sunbaked, half empty, dotted with slow-shuffling Elvis fans. I turned off my rental (a Kia Sportage, natch) and stepped towards the collection of white corrugated-aluminum sheds that constitute Elvis Presley’s Graceland. Not his house, but the dozen or so…
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