cable television.

Wilkesboro was an impulsive decision, as had been Scott's decision to come see me in the first place. The plan had originally been to go get some Thai/Vietnamese food and then rent a movie that somehow involved both Hitler and Meg Ryan so as to keep us both happy. When the Thai/Vietnamese place in town turned out to be closed for good, we decided to just keep going down 421 until we hit Wilkesboro.

It's a good 45 minute drive from Boone to Wilkesboro and it was nearly 9 when we left the last stoplight in Boone behind. On the way, we listened to classical music while I tried to convince Scott that he should try and develop a better relationship with his parents. I don't think he was listening.

Only when we got to Wilkesboro did it occur to us that nothing would be open in a small town like this at 9:30 PM on a Wednesday night. Or at least, if something were open, we wouldn't be able to find it. After passing a sketchy-looking bar called "Ted's Kickin' Chicken", we stopped at a gas station to ask if there was anything in town open. We were directed back to Ted's Kickin' Chicken. The cashier insisted that a lot of "high-class people" stopped there a lot, despite its humble appearance.

So we stopped. We walked in and found that not only does Ted's boast Kickin' Chicken, it has very tinted windows, too. It had looked dark and seedy from the outside. On the inside, it was actually very bright and seedy. We sat down and ordered, Scott had wings, while I opted for a chicken tenders basket since I could not decipher what a chicken "lower" was.

While we waited, we were entertained by the conversation between a regular customer and our waitress. They talked about cable television.

The food was very good indeed, and the ranch dressing was fabulous (It actually came close to being as good as my mother's). The waitress and regular continued to talk about cable television. We left, our bellies finally full, a generous tip on the table. I went back and added a couple of coins to the tip after I realized our waitress could not tell the difference between 30,000 and 300,000 on the video game machine. And there were commas.

It was pitch-black now, but the night was clear. A great night for driving. I almost was jealous that Scott was the one driving on a night such as this. He was apparently feeling pretty good on the way back, because he started telling me stories he had overheard at a truck stop at 4 AM in Asheboro in this crazy southern twang. It was hilarious. I decided I needed to go to more truck stops in Asheboro at 4 AM.

By the time we revisited what was now the first stoplight in Boone, it was flashing yellow, and I was yawning. I'll go visit truck stops in Asheboro some other night.