Returning from our weekend getaway, Clyde and I plot a course taking us through a number of small Alabama towns: Opp, Andalusia, Babbie, Rabb, Samson. In each, a string of abandoned businesses — boarded up gas stations, dreary motels, shattered beauty parlors — lines the highway. Only the pawn and “junktique” shops survive.
Clyde, staring out the passenger window, points out a trend. “All these towns have bizarre combination businesses,” he says. He points. “Karen’s Barber Shop and Ceramics?”
One we start looking for them, we see them everywhere. Clifford’s E-Z Tire and Boiled P-Nuts. Johnny B’s Cafe and Bait. In one nameless town, a faded, stenciled sign announces “Laundry / Donuts.”
Is it a dry cleaners that serves donuts — or a dry cleaner for donuts? We can’t tell by just looking.
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