Talking to the old German guy (shirtless, tan, diamond earring in left ear) with the heavy accent I met last night as I walked to book club.
Me: Where are you from?
Old German Guy: Germany.
Me: Oh! I'm going there next month with my husband. He has to go for work.
OGG: You're married?
Me: Yes. Are you hitting on me?
OGG: Yes. I might ask you out if you are not married.
Me: Well, I might have said yes.
OGG: I go out dancing and close de place down, but den dey arrest me for drifing drunk in my own Gott-damn driveway! Now I can't go out.
This is Juanderlust and his band playing on Beale Street.
OGG: I came here from Germany in 1958 (?) and a year later I vas drafted. Then dey send me back to Gott-damn Germany.
Me: Oh my.
OGG: I vorked with Elvis.
Me: You did?
OGG: Oh yah. He rented a villa -- is dat what you call it? a fancy house? -- for his moder and fader. I meet them.
OGG: He met Priscilla when she is 16. Her father is a colonel in de air force stationed at Weisbaden. He tell her father, "When she is 18, I am going to ask her for your hand." I mean, "ask you for her hand."
This is a mural close to my former house (I loved that house) in Memphis.
Me: We're going to Munich.
OGG: Munich! Dat's where I'm from. Let me tell you, dey say Milwaukee is de Gott-damned beer capital of de world, but it's Munich. You have to go to de Hoffbrau. Dere are six -- no, sefen -- floors and each one is more expensive. De first floor is clay and you sit there and drink beer and eat radishes. You know how people eat peanuts here? De Germans eat radishes and throw de top part on de Gott-damn floor. And you eat weisswurst.