I went for a walk around downtown Nashville. There were a decent number of tourists wandering about. The doors were shut to all of the honky-tonks, which reminded of how Nashville used to be. The days before you were overwhelmed with sound from every direction. As I walked past each bar, I could see and hear the band playing inside.

The only excitement was a homeless guy that walked past me and then proceeded to have a complete breakdown in the middle of Broadway. He was screaming like he was arguing with someone but there wasn’t anyone with him. He took off his jacket, and a heavier shirt and than tore at his t-shirt. He ran onto Broadway and up to the party tractor. He began to bang on the side of their wagon. I watched this all unfold and looked over at another homeless guy that was chewing on massive, old cigar. He looked at me, shrugged and turned to get his stuff and move on. That’s a good idea.

As I walked on, I heard the shouts getting further away. I took a few more pictures and then headed back to the parking garage. The fluorescent lights dimly hummed over the handful of cars spread around the garage.

I was back in a warm car and ready to head out of the city. Wait, the automated exit wasn’t working. I had to push the help button to get someone to help me leave. The guy sighed and “I’ll be right there.” After a couple of minutes, he walked up, opened the gate and motioned for me to go on. He said nothing and just walked away. I thanked him but he just waved without looking back.

It was a fun excursion, but I was happy to be heading back out of the city. I crossed the river, hopped on I-65 and headed home.