The locals call this the greatest city in the world. Which is sort of stupid, if you ask me. Birmingham is a pretty small city, compared to your mega-cities. The greatest? Come on.
The beauty of Milo’s tea is that it’s not too sweet. It is the right balance of sugar and tea. In 12 fluid ounces of Milo’s tea you’re looking at a mere 26 grams of sugar. Which is nothing.
There is a lot of talk in the writing community about how artificial intelligence chatbots are going to replace authors someday.
My mother always used to tell me the same stupid thing: “Be yourself,” she was always saying. Give me a break.
He’s a good boy. A good man. A fine soldier. And that is why I thanked a perfect stranger for his service to our country.
“It sounds like a plot from a Hallmark movie,” he says. “But that’s how it all happened.”
The entire region has been succumbing to deadly heat this week. There have been 11 heat-related deaths in the Southeast recently. On Tuesday, a postal worker collapsed and died while on his route in Dallas.
My cousin was over for dinner; we got to talking about mayonnaise. One thing led to another. The conversation got heated, and eventually we were shouting.
A side-of-the-road restaurant. Way out in the sticks. The young boy was seated at the table with his mother and father. His mother had green hair. His father was bald, with tattoos on his face and on his scalp. The little boy was using a wheelchair.
There is magic in old things. You can’t find this charm in glowing monitors or phone screens.
There was excitement in the air. The same kind of under-the-surface joy that precedes all ball games. Only more so. Because, you see, this was a Miracle League game.
I am perplexed why homeowners in Birmingham are always cutting down enormous, 150-year-old, healthy trees. Is it an aesthetic thing? Do some people just hate trees?
Cracker Barrel is quiet this time of night. My wife is with me. We’ve been traveling all day. On the way into the restaurant, I see a few kids sitting on rockers outside. They’re playing checkers.
Those who do not have dogs do not get it. They will not get it. For there is a bond between human and canine which is so thick not even the strongest man could tear it asunder.
It’s not supposed to happen here. It’s not supposed to happen anywhere. And it’s definitely not supposed to occur in our own backyard.
No, I don’t know how to save this country. But I know that turning off the TV is a good place to start.
You’ve just read about three angels from a humble region of the world that is oft forgotten. We call this region the Great American South. And these were our angels.
Buc-ee’s convenience store sits outside Athens, Alabama, like a giant squatting beaver.
This food stirs up a lot of memories. Because that’s what good barbecue does. It makes you remember.
The first thing you should know about me is that I am very nosy person. I get this from my mother. I have my black belt in rubbernecking.
“I am a little old woman who lives in an assisted living facility…” her email began. “I had a baby when I was fourteen…” she wrote.
“Hello?” said a girl’s voice. “Someone told me your husband worked on old cars?”
Our plane touched down in Birmingham at about 7 p.m. The captain said, “Welcome to the Magic City, we hope you’ve enjoyed your flight.”
A look of wistfulness comes over the face of the young woman making my sandwich at a New York deli counter. “Birmingham,” she said. “I’m from Birmingham. I was born there.”
The young woman cutting my hair goes by the name Shelby. She is as country as a collard, with an accent like Ribbon cane syrup.
I love cornbread. I was raised on the stuff, just like everyone else in America.