Today, my father and I headed north on Lewis Avenue, which is in Tulsa — that’s important to the proceedings — from the Hebrew Home to Oak Street Health, because he needed to have some routine blood work done.
“What the hell is it with this road?” he asks, minutes into the trip.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s so straight. You can’t turn or anything.”
“You can turn.”
“I know, I know, but then you’d be on another road.”
“I think that’s the point. There are times people don’t want to be on Lewis.”
“And we do?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s where the doctor is?”
“On Lewis?”
“Yes.”
“It’s the straightest road I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?”
Just then we see an apartment complex.
“I notice that Tulsa isn’t building hotels anymore,” he says, “they’re going with these multiple dwellings.”
“Tulsa has hotels.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“So where do people live?”
“All over.”
“What do they do here?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you know — where’s this doctor? Tennessee?”
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