An Elvis Tie

Breakfast in Memphis. I demand coffee, good coffee. There's a Starbucks diagonally opposite the hotel, over the crossroads – that'll have to do. But how do we get there? We stand by the roadside, waiting. Cars pass in an endless stream. Cars, lorries, buses, without a break.

How are we going to get across? I'm desperate. We'll have to run, I tell W. We run, making the other side. But Sal's been left behind. What shall we do about Sal? There she is, waving to us. There's nothing we can do, W. says.

There's still one more road to cross. The same technique: a headlong rushing. We're madmen! Sal, meanwhile, has found a button you can push to get the traffic lights working. She crosses calmly. Why didn't we work that out? She crosses the second street. Here she is. You twats, she says, why did you leave me there?

We're heading to Graceland. Sal's going to buy some tat, she says. A load of tat. Her dad wants an Elvis tie. Sal will move heaven and earth to get her dad an Elvis tie, W. says. That's to be our focus: Sal's dad's Elvis tie.

As it happens, in the shop, there is no Elvis ties. Sal buys Elvis playing cards, Elvis keyrings, Elvis fridge magnets, Elvis dolls, Elvis snowglobes, toy pink cadillacs, a toy plane with Taking Care of Business on the tailfin, a book of Elvis-themed recipes, Elvis beermats, Elvis shot glasses, Elvis mugs, Elvis caps, an Elvis totebag and a deluxe Elvis-style adult jumpsuit. She spends $300. But there are no Elvis ties.

We go up and down Beale street looking for Elvis ties, but there are none there, either. We find an old shop that sells spells. They're piled haphazardly at the back in cardboard boxes with their names written on them. Warding Charm, says one. Love Spell, says another. What kind of spells would W. buy? The Fuck Off Lars spell, he says. No, not really.

By the Mississippi, Sal takes photos of us riding one another like horses. What are your thoughts about the Mississippi?, W. asks. We should ride down it like Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer. Sal says our raft would sink. We'd drown straightaway, like kittens.