Elvis Has Left the Building
It was August 17th, 1977, a Tuesday. Wifey and I were driving down the California coast after a weekend in our ocean cabin. It was a sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. The top on our convertible was down, music tuned to a San Francisco station, wind in our hair and most likely there was a can of cold beer between my legs (back in the day that's the only way I could balance myself while driving plus my nuts seemed to always need cooling off).
Driving home marked the end of a long weekend, a great one. There's nothing like sleeping near the ocean. The smell, the sounds, the stars, a cresent moon. Spending time at the cabin was always a piece of heaven.
About halfway home the music on the radio was interrupted with the announcement that the King was dead.
Live fast. Die young. Leave a good looking corpse. That's what I was thinking.
We stopped the car at an open spot in the road that overlooked the Pacific ocean. I slipped a tape of the King's music into the car's stereo and this song came up: