I just got home. I feel like the middle of the night.It’s 8:19. I tell ya, though, South Knoxville is no place for two white girls past dark. It probably ain’t no place for us in the daylight, either. Crackheads on every corner. People on bicycles trying to cross Chapman, and not at a redlight or anything, just all willy-nilly. What was I doing in South Knox on a random Monday? My cousin text and asked if I wanted to go eat. She’s too bougie for lowly Seymour fare, she was opting for The Kennedy or Kerns. I told her as long as she was driving, I was game (but fingers crossed we weren’t going to The Kennedy or I’d have to eat watercress soup like Phoebe). Luckily, she chose Kerns where we’d have more options. Now, funny thing, I was wanting anything but Mexican (I’ve learned to specify because all my friends know I willingly eat it, so everybody wears me out on it). I was leaning towards pizza, which I rarely want. And this food mall had pizza. But Chelsey steered me away. She said it wasn’t very good. However, she’s way pickier than me. I didn’t discount them yet. The burgers were tempting; I’ve been wanting a good burger. I’m always wanting a good burger, truth be told, but I can…