Goin' South

Made it to Milledgeville in a zippy, silver Fiat. After going south for some time (story of my life), I stopped at a convenience store and expressed my uncertainty to the indian fellow who sold me two cans of Jamaican beer, a pack of gum and directed me north.

Off I went into the deep south, moonlit night with the Robert Quine tapes torturingly loud.

 Was ultimately relieved to be on the road after a string of delays/debacles. It seemed like only yesterday that I was tying one on at Alberta Street and then missing my flight the next morning when Frontier closed their counter 45 minutes before my flight. Me and two other people stood out there at 5am with angry looks on our faces and bad things coming out of our twisted mouths.

long Georgian porches for a mock unwind

Not traveling too often makes it hard to keep up with all the new ways airlines can fuck ya. What I learned is don't book through a third party or else you'll be reamed if you need to change your ticket. It cost me all kinds of money a number of different ways: $100 for carry-on alone.


What happened to the days when the airlines used to shuttle you to the terminal to get you on that flight. Australia was good like that. One thing I overlooked was how lousy and inefficient PDX security is. Is this because there are more nimrods here trying to blow crap up? I wonder.

Gave me only one day to get my head around Milledgeville, hoping I got a clue and I kind of did. Didn't make it to Flannery's lodgings, which breaks my heart.

The town is tiny, the restaurants gave me a stomachache, but I met some nice people and the writing program is most outstanding.

I got really energetic.

And then I got really really tired.