Time to provision the GMC Safari and prepare to throw off the bowline, I’m going on vacation. By this time next week I hope to be adrift on the U.S. Highway system in search of life’s treasures. A rendevous with the tree climbing cult down in Reddick, a bon voyage meeting with Mel (not his real name) who is moving to Singapore, then up to the mountains where I plan to set up on the Davidson River in Pisgah National Forest, just outside of Brevard. Soup will join me for a few days if all is well with his child, the oracle, Mae Elizabeth.
I expect other brigands and ne’er do wells to sneak into the harbor under cover of darkness when my cannoneers are sleeping off the rum. I’m not exactly sure who is serious and who is flapping gums. The rumors are endless on the high seas and the black market.
I know this. I have to get out of here. When I say “here” I am not sure if I mean my own mind or this town. So far this should have been called the summer of low expectations. In fact, if you do not live in Tallahassee and you would like to promote your town as a possible destination for recreation or relocation, please share a specific detail about what makes your port a happy one.