Now I'm in Chatt, There's a Lot of Hills

What if I told this as a narrative... Well, I think it would look a little something like this:

Walking down the hallway to get onto the elevator to leave this little chunk of hell affectionately called "Richardson Towers South", I hear my bag shuffle by my side, with the faint clang-a-langs of bottles inside it. On the elevator, going down, walking down the hall, getting some funny looks from folks who ain't left yet for break. I see Andy's dad, waiting to pick us up (a tad sophomoric, I'll admit) and he is a lot less frightening than I had imagined him to be, but I wasn't exactly upset. His sister tagged along, which I didn't mind, since I wouldn't have had an awkward introduction in their own home. Now, bags packed, a drive roughly five hours long ahead of me.

Learned a lot of cool stuff on the drive, couldn't sleep. The things I learned were important enough for me to find interesting, but not big enough for me to recall specifically for this little thing here. I listened to the GZA album, Pro Tools since I had just gotten it. I love the GZA, love the Pro Tools, not a bad album. It reminds me of why I love the Wu-Tang Clan and its members. A lot of useless things being mentioned, but that's what the drive there felt like, really. Random knowledge getting spread throughout the five-hour trip, made more awkward by the time change (gained an hour). The trip got a little more interesting when we got on the other side of Monteagle, where the hills began and there was plenty of scenery to oogle. Then, finally, Chatt itself appeared, in all of its ghetto-esque glory. The poverty-stricken entrance to the city was less than welcoming, yet there was a school named Howard High, whose mascot is the Hustlin' Tiger.

Why can't we be the the Hustlin' Tigers, Memphis? Why?

-rcw