Last summer, while we were in Memphis, I had this idea of trying to talk Charles and Kerstin into a short trip down to Clarksdale, Mississippi, to go find the crossroad where Delta Blue’s legend Robert Johnson allegedly sold his soul to the Devil.
To be honest, considering that I’ve never been a rabid fan of the Blues, or even the Rolling Stones for that matter, I’m not really sure why I wanted to go. I suppose I can blame Ralph Macchio.
On the way to Clarksdale.
Temporary Person Passing Through 