Six years ago today I came to Memphis for the first time. It was warm and humid in contrast to the stark cold of British March, and immediately upon landing, collecting my bags, and barely assembling myself after the flight, I was gathered up in a battered early 90s Toyota Camry, handed a swiftly opened Corona, and driven into the sunset heading west into Arkansas. A vast bleeding melting sunset toward which every road appeared to lead, and for which the bridge crossing the Mississippi River seemed designed solely to make a spectacle of. There was no stereo in the car, it had been stolen at some earlier misadventure, but if there was to have been, it would no doubt have been playing Thin Lizzy, or REO Speedwagon, something of that nature.

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