From Pickwick State Park we took route 57 past Baptist churches advertising vacation bible camps, hand painted signs for deer rendering or junk collection, and men burning trash in oil drums. As we neared Memphis, the radio went from country to blues. Elvis Presley Boulevard escorted us to the gates of Graceland. After weeks of being away from people, we were surrounded by the masses wanting to see Elvis and buy his pens, coffee cups, collectible guitars, and Post-it notes (we bought a sparkly combination Elvis lighter/bottle opener). For all its kitsch, it is a sacred place for the believers. We overheard a woman tell a security guard that this was her fourth trip to the King’s place.



3 thoughts on “Graceland

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