Atlanta is burning. We left the city this morning under the cover of a heavy fog and aluminum foil poptart wrappers. There was a dog barking…a pug who’d, the night before, wandered out into this wasteland, and in this blighted place, we think, learned to live again. God’s little mistake…The Warrior..The Pug…Max.
The night before was a thing of beauty. Our candlelit dinner theater extravaganza was witnessed by one transplanted Mississippian and a face-painted warrior comrade from Atlanta’s neighbor: Georgia. He was a fierce beast. And although their combined cover charges weren’t quite enough to cover the bar’s steep production costs…we were treated like kings and rewarded for our valor in Ireland’s finest Vodka. The Vodka was divided amongst each of us and every man celebrated with it in their own way. Most drank. Commander dowsed himself with his share in hopes of human-torching up and down Piedmont street, but he failed.
We stayed the night in The Major’s Nest high atop Bald Eagle Hill on Bald Eagle Way…just before you get to eaglet street. The Major wasn’t in, but we were welcomed and made comfortable by an old friend and ally, Kristin:the Entomolgizer. She showed us to our, as yet unmatched, sleeping quarters complete with a glorious Lego fortress. Scartoe slept in the arms of a giant brown bear.
Tonight, Tallahassee showed us a good time. She held the door for us, and picked up the check, and treated us to a crapload of tough metal. We are recovering from the night’s wrath, even as I type, from our new-found Tallahassee home base: W.A.S.P.N.E.S.T.
Our new allies: Lee, Hogan, and Alex (and their Harry P. look-alike roommate Rob) are fading quickly as I write these words…They are dropping like flies…Charlie is all around us, and that Charlie’s name is Sleep. Tomorrow we make for Gainsville with everything we’ve got. God-willing, we’ll be there by sundown.
Sleep well faithful readers, for tomorrow brings untold danger and unmatched fear…Samhain is neigh…