No trumpet-blaring angels, no Horsemen riding out of a sky split asunder, no seas turning to blood . . . nothing like that. No, my particular Kingdom Come rang in on a more humble note. It began with me getting kicked out of a bar in Memphis on a rainy night in May. But you know, you get kicked out of enough bars, it doesn’t even faze you. I wasn’t sure exactly what I’d done to warrant it this time, but after the brief scuffle, the feel of my skull slamming against the door, the scrape of the hard cold sidewalk on my face, I pulled myself up and walked away from it. I left my dignity behind, but what the hell, I almost never used it anyway.I was drunk, I’ll admit it. A pretty sorry state for a potential Messiah. The rain misted down out of a pale sky, tinted red and yellow and green by the neon lights of downtown Memphis. I caught the earthy scent of beer and steamed crawfish. The chill night air hummed with noise and music. Only six hours before, I’d been baking in the Arkansas sun, hitching a ride just on the other side of the bridge.
