Our story begins
with Jim hitting the road after a "hard run"
in Charlotte. Fallen
upon hard times, he hops the next train out of
town on his way to New Orleans, armed with
only his cleanest dirty shirt.
But lemme tell you, $500 doesn't go
far these day when you got
"groceries" to buy, so 'ol Jim only made it
to Arkansas.
In the first picture,
you'll notice Jim has seen the Mecca of his
existence, a new
used mobile home. Money is
tight so he tries
to make a deal with the devil (a.k.a. fly by night
mobile home broker)
down at the crossroads, however the devil says
Jim's soul is too
scratched and can only offer him ten cents. Jim
thinking the devil
said "thin mints" accepts his offer with his reply
"yeah I really could
use a piece of gum". The devil shakes his head
and comes to the
conclusion that they "just don't speak the same
language". Lucky
for Jim a ten cent soul can get you a midnight
mortgage on a mobile
home in Arkansas, so he makes the deal.
But just like fries
get cold, beer gets warm, teeth fall out, and all of America's
shit flows south
into the 'ol Missisippi River, so did Jim's luck. Things went awry
in a "bad neighborhood"
in Little Rock and 'ol Jim barely escaped with his life
and an old Buick
he "found" with the keys in the ignition in front of a Circle K in Conway.
Now anyone can see
that shirt isn't getting any cleaner. Where will he go next?
Selma, Alabama?
Greenwood Missisippi? The basement of The Alamo? Follow
the cigarette smoke.............