We hightailed it away from the northern tundra. As I parked my car I said to DP, “Surely we won’t have to clear snow away this time,” as we have had to do last time we went to [city redacted] a few Januaries ago. I’d like to take this moment to humbly apologize to fellow citizens of the frozen wastelands for the three inches of snow the day before we returned. That was my fault.
We stayed at a little house in a leafy neighborhood. I ate a biscuit every day, even the day I ordered huevos rancheros for breakfast. There was both a rosebush and a palm tree in the front yard of our little house. Cats slept on the porch next door.
We met some friends and went to three independent bookstores in three days. Two amazing concerts. Countless sazeracs. Grits. Pork in unholy quantities. Then on the last day, DP and I found ourselves in a crowded, touristy section of town. We stared at each other in panic.
“If I have to see one more drunken tourist I might kill someone,” I told him with my eyes. “I would rather not bail you out of a southern jail,” he responded with a glance. This is what ten years has brought us when we stare into each other’s eyes.
So we fled back to our little house. I went to bed with a book, and he watched The Walking Dead. It may not have been a memorable last night in a memorable city, but our social capital was spent.
Today I am reasonably happy to be at my
desk dining room table with a sleeping poodle thing and some work to be done.
How do you tour?