South Main, Y’all

In my neighborhood, Saturday mornings are:

guests brewing on the sidewalks outside coffee shops

women so new to their bicycles that I walk in the street to stay safe

an elderly hat-wearing man who could be a prophet or celebrity. Or homeless.

headphones and horn honks and posing for photos in front of the Blues Museum

cowboy boots and a two-tone suede jacket and you know—you just know—he’s on pilgrimage

the stampede of runners erupting from the Crossfit Hit and Run

groups standing, head bowed, in front of Room 306 at the National Civil Rights Museum

cafe tables being unchained, opening for business

strangers chatting in the snaking line outside the Arcade Restaurant

And, spilling over everyone, the sunshine and reverence and being Memphis, y’all, being Memphis, South Main style