Jump (Little Children) play Turner Field--Continued . . .

So, Sarah and I were driving on Ponce de Leon, looking for Moreland. Our confidence was shaken, our determination was fierce, and we were haunted by the vision of TURNER FIELD looming before us.

We are Lewis and Clark, although female, and in the South, and making far less progress because other mischevious explorers have been here before us, laying a false trail. We have no Sacajewa to aid us. We have only MapQuest directions, a CD that no subsitute for the real show which has surely begun, and a pack of cigarettes. I roll down the window, light a cigarette, and exhale a cloud of smoke into the night. We reach a red light.

"What the hell?!" I exclaim, "Sherman razed this city to the ground! Couldn't they have rebuilt it on a grid? What the hell is this? Why do I not have OnStar? Or like, a GPS tracker thing? Is this some strange Southern ploy--once bitten, now you'll never make sense of this city? Good God! Is the Georgia Dept. of Transportation insane? Well we ARE going to find this place, I don't know how, but. . ." I am interupted by voice to my left.

"Hey, hey!" calls the voice, "are you ladies lost?"
I look out my window, and sitting next to us at the red light is a man who is leaning towards us in his SUV.
"Hey!" I call back, "Where is Moreland?"
"Moreland?" he asks, "Well, it's right up there, just go . . ." The light turns green. "Follow me!" he cries, "I will honk when you should turn!"

I follow our Sacajewa, and we eagerly listen for a honk. Instead, however, he eventually turns into an Exxon, and we follow. I pull up next to him, and lean out my window.

"Hey," he says, "It's that street right there. Just look for the bustle of people. Where are you ladies going? Do you need some company, he he?"
"Umm . . . thanks!" I call back, "No, we're late for a show. But thanks! Bye!"
"Wait, wait, " he says, "I am Rasheed. I will give you my phone number."
"Oh, um, okay, " I say, "What is it?"
"I must write it down, " he replies, "You will forget."
"No, no, " I protest, "We can remember it."
"Let me find a pen," he replies.

I look at Sarah. This is taking far too long. We search through the car for a pen and some paper. I find a pen in my purse, and Sarah hands me the MapQuest directions.

"We've got it!" I call over.
He gives me his phone number, and makes us promise to call him. Then he insists on shaking our hands.
"Thanks Rasheed!" I call out the window as we drive away. I look at Sarah. "We're not calling him, " I say.
"Ah, good," says Sarah.
"But he was a nice guy," I say, and Sarah agrees. "So I'll blog him."

So thanks to Rasheed, we find Moreland. We get pointed towards the Variety after parking the car, and we rush over to the club, while philosophizing that if we've missed too much of the show, we can always call Rasheed and invite him to the Braves game.

But we have missed nothing. The opening band was still playing as we finally, finally, finally walked into the Variety.

And because I have an Old English test today, and I because I just translated a sentence as "As Cyneheard and his men all at the King were fighting until that they he killed took," I am, tearfully, forced to leave this . . .

. . . To Be Concluded . . .