Two Tears In A Bucket. Motherfuck It.

By Morning She Was Dead. She Had Not Died Of Starvation Or Committed Suicide By Any Conventional Means. She Had Simply Willed Herself To Die, And Being A Strong-willed Woman, She Had Succeeded. She Had Missed Dying On Her Birthday By Two Days.

If You Go To Atlanta, The First Question People Ask You Is, "what's Your Business?" In Macon They Ask, "where Do You Go To Church?" In Augusta They Ask Your Grandmother's Maiden Name. But In Savannah The First Question People Ask You Is "what Would You Like To Drink?"

Two Tears In A Bucket. Motherfuck It.

Rule Number One: Always Stick Around For One More Drink. That's When Things Happen. That's When You Find Out Everything You Want To Know.

For Me, Savannah's Resistance To Change Was Its Saving Grace. The City Looked Inward, Sealed Off From The Noises And Distractions Of The World At Large. It Grew Inward, Too, And In Such A Way That Its People Flourished Like Hothouse Plants Tended By An Indulgent Gardener. The Ordinary Became Extraordinary. Eccentrics Thrived. Every Nuance And Quirk Of Personality Achieved Greater Brilliance In That Lush Enclosure Than Would Have Been Possible Anywhere Else In The World.