He was lucky he was able to pull himself away from those girls, and get back to the Bluesmobile before the cops found it on that back road. Then he drove some more, winding his way through back roads, to avoid the main highwayroads. He found himself sleeping in the parking lot of a grocery store in some little shit hole of a town. It was south of Cape Girardeau, which in itself was it's own special brand of nasty. It was going on noon, when he finally woke, as he began to sweat even in the shady spot he had parked in.

Although he still had a half a tank, he found a station and filled up anyway. He paid in cash, silently thanking the girls in absentia for their kind, if unknowing, contribution to his travel fund.

"Like, they owe me," he rationalized in his mind. "When would they ever have as good a time as that, and not wind up in the slammer?"

Now it was midday, and he was back on I-55 heading south. The sign said two hundred and sixty miles to Memphis. That was his next stop.

Beale Street was calling his name.

.

Elwood sped past the billboard. At 80 miles an hour, he didn't quite get a chance to read it. With a quick check of the rear view mirrors, he slammed both feet down on the breaks, as both he and the car lurched forward. The Caddy spun out about 10 degrees to the left. Then, in one single motion, he shifted into reverse as he twisted his body to look over the back seat, as he quickly backed up, until the billboard was once again in view.

It was beautiful. It was Divine Will. It was Kismet.

He curled the left side of his lip up into a controlled smile.

What was this wonder of wonders? Truly, America was beautiful, as he looked up at the amazing sight. The billboard depicted a plump man, holding a tray filled with white dinner rolls. And like the great American past time, the man was ready for the pitch. But instead of a baseball in his hand, he held a warm piece of white bread, aerodynamic in design, ready for flight.

Twelve miles ahead, in Sikeston, Missouri, he would embark on a new culinary adventure. Elwood was heading for Lambert's Café - The Home of the Throwed Roll.

.

The restaurant was cheesy Americana. He looked around and seemed confused by a gift store in front of the restaurant. Loud laughter and shouting poured out from a cafeteria style room towards the back. He tried to walked up to the room, but was stopped.

"How many, sir?"

Elwood held up one finger.

"For lunch?"

"Um, I'd just like a few of those rolls, m'am..."

She gave him a puzzled look, then explained that they came with the meal. He leaned over again, trying to get a peak into the dining room.

"You came during the rush. It will be a few minutes."

He nodded, innocently, then pointed towards the gift shop, as if asking for information to browse. Perhaps he would pick a few things up, if the opportunity arose.

As he wandered towards the back, he got his chance to look into the restaurant. It was a scene from St. Helen's all over. Long tables filled with hungry bodies. Servers (only this time not in habits) brought around bowls of food that they dished out.

And then he saw him. The man in a white apron, with a plate full of warm rolls. As hand rose into the air, he'd throw a roll to each hungry diner on command.

"Head's up!"

It was controlled chaos. Better yet, it was white bread in flight.

He turned back to the cashier, hoping to get her permission to enter. Instead he saw her whispering to a manager who was on the phone. Both glanced over towards him. He turned, innocently, looking around, as if they couldn't possibly be looking at him.

Did he look that suspicious? Maybe he needed a shower and a decent night's sleep after all. But what he needed right then was something to eat. It had been a while, after all.

And there they were. Throwed rolls, sailing across the room.

He peeked into the room once again, noticing the fire exit at the other end.

"Why the hell not?"

Head held high, and in one sweeping move, Elwood used his long legs to quickly carry himself into the dining room. As he made his way through, he intercepted two rolls in flight, then pushed through the exit door.

Author's note: There are some things in life that are far stranger than fiction. Head's up! Search for Lambert's Café on the web! You know you want to.