Saturday, at about 11:00pm, we arrive in Raleigh, after driving from Tallahassee. We dropped off kindred spirit Bruce Covey in Atlanta and off we fled, through the hills, through the stoplights and gas stations, through one O’Charley’s and one Ruby Tuesday’s, racing against the time, hoping to arrive as soon as is possible. We discussed the viability of Worm Holes and the hope that the blue dot on Shanna’s GPS would jump ahead, skipping us along the highway, and making the shit go quicker. Ten-hour drives are long. They take at least ten hours. Those ten hours feel exactly like 666 minutes. But when we arrive we are happy, setting ourselves up with a Gin and Sprite and retiring to our rooms to just do nothing. But now I’m writing.
But at The Warehouse (the venue in Tallahassee) the reading was excellent. Fellow Bloofer and Atlanta reading companion, Sandra Simonds, organized the reading at a cool venue that was like a cool bar in Texas. In fact, Shanna said, “This is like a cool bar I used to go to in Texas.” It was large and there were wooden rafters and a long back porch that made you feel like you were waiting for a train.
None of our photos really came out all that well. This is Scott Sweeney though, trust us.
His life in poetry goes a little like this: