| | | The man was clearly exhausted. A night of bourbon-drinking and Honky Tonk-dancing had taken its toll. He was deep in an uncomplicated slumber, his mouth agape, snoring loudly. One foot hung over the b | | If you have trouble reading this email, go to the online version |  | |  | | | | | | | | March 14, 2019 | | A New Nashville Hotel with Barbecue Butlers and a Clandestine Nightclub
Your Long Weekend Awaits... | |  | | | | | | | The man was clearly exhausted. A night of bourbon-drinking and Honky Tonk-dancing had taken its toll. He was deep in an uncomplicated slumber, his mouth agape, snoring loudly. One foot hung over the bed, its shoe hanging on his toes like a coat on a hook.
The man's friends stood by his bed.
"Steve," one of them said, trying to shake him awake. "Steve, time to wake up."
It was nearly 1pm. Steve's sleep continued unabated.
"What do we do?" another friend asked the group.
A short silence ensued. Then, something in the room shifted.
"There's only one person who can fix this," the third friend said, eyes darting towards the phone. "Quick. Let's call the Barbecue Butler."
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