It was just after the Christmas of 2009, when my friend’s father, Jeff, gave my father a call from about 200 miles north. He had called to ask if we wanted to join them at their holiday vacation rental up in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee. Of course, my father said yes. I was excited to go as well, because I knew my best friends, Jesse and Hannah, would be there, too. The night we arrived, Jeff suggested we enjoy some milkshakes in the city. I questioned his notion silently. “Milkshakes in December?” I mused. After a short drive down the mountain, we arrived in town. Almost immediately, we spotted a quaint, 50s style diner with neon lights galore. We knew instantly they would have malts and milkshakes even in the cold grip of the winter winds. A waft
