Three Things I Learned While Eating Spaghetti in Memphis

I've traveled outside the Florida Republic once again, and already, I'm having interesting interactions with the locals. That's why it's important to carry a specific state of mind with you.

Dear Fellow Expat:

I went through two metal detectors on Tuesday.

The first was at Fort Myers Airport security.

The second was to enter a bar in Memphis a half-mile down the street from my hotel.

Only one of the officers was armed. It was the one who allowed me into a bar, where I promptly ordered spaghetti and New Jersey meatballs. This Memphis bar had a “2 am kitchen” and a lot of history to it. It’s also a hot spot for police officers to order food late at night. Memphis isn’t a safe town when the sun goes down.

I sat down with a pile of loose notes on the market and pulled out my phone. At midnight, after I received my spaghetti, I outlined my plans this summer to write a book on the Florida Republic and investments. I had water and a club soda.

Suddenly, to my left, a movement followed. It was subtle. But enough to cause a stir.

The bartender jumped back, “Whoah!” he yelped.

I couldn’t believe what followed…

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