Jackie Lee 2-step madness

It's a quiet, unassuming karaoke bar with metal detectors, attached to a sad-looking Travelodge in Opelika. And it's home to Jackie Lee's, home of Jackie Lee. Picture a kind of shrunken-headed man, wearing a pimp zoot, and belting out raspy covers of Sam Cooke, and that about sums it up. Drinks in plastic cups, newly escaped American-citizens-to-be, big booty shakin' black women, kids from the projects (trailer park by a train track, in the South), white trash dressed up as mutton dressed as lamb, and then us. No wonder I cleared the dancefloor with my karaoke. I wonder if they thought we were laughing at them. Or maybe they'd just never seen a girl with non-reflective glasses before.