First though, a rundown of Friday night's Warehouse Blues show.
Skeeter Brandon's not getting any younger, and some health issues kept him off the stage for much of the second set, but he did recover enough to give us a great version of Rainy Night in Georgia. Friday's beverage? Leinie wheats.
Now the structure of the West Village courtyard is such that you can only see the sky overhead, not the horizon. Fortunately, this show hung on long enough for us to see it on the way home.
From the Brightleaf Square parking lot.
Now, for the road trip.
I've owned only about half a dozen or so cars in my adult life. They've all had personalities, most have had names, and several were clearly possessed of gender. My 73 Subaru, Angel, was female, and my 87 B2000, which i've owned for almost 21 years now, is a mule named Beauregard.
People who don't get it ask on occasion, how you can tell if a car is male or female? It's not always easy, but sometimes the vehicle has distinguishing characteristics.
This truck, for instance, is clearly male, as a closeup photo reveals.
I wonder if his name is Major?
More sights from yesterday's trip to follow later.