Savannah

December 29, 2008

East end of Broughton Street, Savannah, Georgia. Long ride through unaccountably tangled traffic on 95. The Pirate’s House is on one side and a deep inlet on the other, with large ships passing through as though they were on the next street over. The TV doesn’t work. We don’t know where to park. No one is here but DJ and I, nor do we have anything but vague promises earlier on to suggest they might be coming. So far I am not having a good time. But we did walk the streets of Savannah at twilight, and a delicious citrus-y perfume came from the homely flowers of a homely shrub, and the live oaks were a knotty firmament. It is December and we’re walking in our T-shirts. If I had not planned this venture and this feel responsible for everything, I might be having a better time. I’ll go walking again and pretend it’s Dublin.