if you've ever been showing your visiting friend a great time in downtown Nashville, going to Honky Tonks, drinking $1 Pabst (yes, that was a thing so very long ago...) singing along to live renditions of the Devil Went Down to Georgia in every bar and chatting up the people. Then you meet a dude and his lady and your friend just keeps talking to them because they tell him their names and he doesn't believe them, so they take their IDs out proving themselves and then remove their lovingly used orange Vols koozie from their $1 Pabst. They proceed to ask the bartender for a pen, autographing said koozie, presenting it to your friend who, mystified, accepts the gift with graciousness and a hearty laugh. Leaving the bar, protecting that koozie all night until finally parting was inevitable with the next morning filled with travel and the regular grind to settle back in; they present you with the koozie because, "No one in NY will believe this story. I still don't and I saw ID proof." You take it, laughing, only to throw the koozie in the bottom of a kitchen drawer that you won't bother looking into until over 10 years later (yesterday), when you find it and recall the hilarious episode of your life. You may have visited Luckytown.
