Thought we'd made it to San Antonio; I wasn't driving (I never drive). But the waitress told us this was just Toledo. She said it just like that, too: "This is just Toledo," she said. I remembered that. Just Toledo. Those two words had a playful childhood fistfight right up until the end of the bender. Rolling around, scrappin' and then maybe it turns bad. Later on in my life when, after a treacherous plane ride, I wound up in California, I cried for a real long time. After rehab, my country-rock record Just Toledo sold well enough for me to forget about life, forget about places, forget about all of it, for awhile, again.