Kansas City. Missouri.
The beat up Chrysler pulled in. Are you TY IN? The bulky old man peeked out form the car window. I shrugged. I can be. His name is Mark and he is from Texas and now lives in Wichita — chatty, a little too friendly for a short cab ride, but not the uncomfortable amount. Not until he told me he is divorced and lives alone in an RV going from town to town visiting old friends. I steered the conversation to barbecue. I’ve tried Kansas City Joe, Arther Bryant is where I’m going, Chet told me to try Q39 but a local told me one shouldn’t need a reservation just to get some some ribs. Then I’m off to the airport. I told him. Mark pulled in the restaurant, not to the front but to the parking lot. “I’ve got an idea. I’ll wait here so you don’t miss your flight.’ He said “ The airport is where I’m going anyway. And I’m very hungry” Great, I said. Quickly ran through all the scenarios of how this could go badly. my phone was ...