Frequent police sweeps drive the homeless from the main strip, clearing panhandlers, sending the "interesting" folks elsewhere.

They even sweep the Greyhound terminal, the first law enforcement presence I remember there in 30 years of travels.

Two college age buskers remain, tolerated. They're a guitar and violin duo singing traditional Appalachian songs in thinly false Tennessee accents. I'm interested in asking them about that, but before they complete their tune the police sweep catches even me, although except for jaywalking I'm entirely law-abiding on this occasion. It's just too blue here for comfort. I'll drive south, infest a less buttoned-down town.