Walking the mile or so between the Peabody Hotel and Sun Studios is (to me at least) as interesting as the studio tour itself. The surrounding area does not seem to have reaped the benefits of proximity to a holy shrine. My wanderings were unnarrated; not many journeys in Memphis can make that claim. From the beginning, the barkers teased the tourists with stories of BB King selling his soul to the devil (presumably for the low-budget café that bears his name), as I listened to bands too lazy to spell playing in the beer gardens. I’ve had a good dose of the south this time through; today we turn back north.