Smears of Spanish moss and a southern girl from the north.

Lightning flash. Storm at one in the morning, they said. Ninety percent chance of precipitation, they said.

Which bed are you sleeping in tonight, I said. I want to know, I said, so I can be prepared.

Waking up on a bed with no blankets, heat rolling around. A glass of ice with no ice cubes. This refrigerator doesn’t make ice cubes, they said. Buy an ice cube tray, I said. They said, never have even thought of that. Maybe I’ll get you one tomorrow, I said.

Through the flower spaces, through the square. Feet pounding, students bustling, the chested horizon line.

Wait, now, I’m doing something here, I’m doing something.

Airplane sounding above, umbrella of noise. Thought about flying down, drove my car after thinking against flying. It’s actually kind of exciting, they said. Twelve hours in a car alone, one and a half bottles of water. Sandwich, yogurt, mountains, phone calls, music. Singing along and really listening to the subtleties of an album. Writing in my head about a lot of things. State troopers in their cars dripping off the sides of the road, hovering with their lights in the shade.

Fountain spitting out on all sides, stone infants, waddled clothing, horns spitting into other spitting. Fountain spitting, white fountain. Pink flowers and crushed brown leaves, benches with old wood and new wood, tree arms hanging in the sunlight and there in the shade.

“Un dat man, e walk’up der un dat microphun un open is mout an sing. E start is song an the good lord sweep down an take is voice clean ‘way. Ain’t no man goin do dat un get way wi’it. Dat man ain’t ne’r goin finish is song.”

Street signs, black lights and bicycles. Houses on the side with their mouths shut, a ladder, extension cord hanging from the third story window, suspended twelve feet up. Renovations, they said. Historical preservation, they said.

I’ll walk around for a while, till you’re out of class, I said. Let me know when you’re out of class, I said, so I can be prepared.

Sunlight hidden now, coming through the branches slower. Still bright. Man with his arm wrapped in gauze, white paw. Child watching a yellow butterfly out of the shade, laughing. Grandfather sunglasses scooping up child and holding his close at his cheek.

Only love is all maroon, initials; smears of Spanish moss and a southern girl from the north.

Trolley chugging through traffic, packed with cameras and maps, girls posing for a photograph before the pink flowers. On foot now, walking across streets with names, walking through colors. Packs of young boys mismatched on tiny bicycles with thick black tires, moving.

“You cain’t be tretin’ me like dat, no way. Is the same evry time you’n come out an talk wi’me. I pologize for that, ain’t nobody need’n see me like that. It alright, no matter. You done got yours and we got ours. You ain’t got to mind.” (Laughs)

Straw hats and southern accents, squares and meeting places, carriages strung through on an invisible line, unchanging routes.

Hope you are having a safe trip. That is very exciting driving all the way there. Have a nice day.

You’ve got three knives, I said, why is that. Just in case, she said. She said, only one of them’s mine, though, the one’s my friends and the other is just a mat knife. That’s good, I said, for protection. Let me know if you’re going to carry a knife, I said, so I can be prepared.

Hopefully the weather is nicer than it is here, I can assume. Pretty mellow. I head down to Virginia on Thursday morning, not as exciting as your endeavor.

The sun went away again. Bull street. Black statue, iron, pointing up through the trees, namesake. First a door, then another door, two keys, two locks, home. Horse clopping around the square, breeze through the buildings, salt lingering from the ocean on the other side of town.

Do you think it’s okay for two people to be quiet she said. I said when there’s a lot to take in from the scene at present, then yes. But if two people don’t have anything to talk about, she said. Yes, I said. You’re talking about us, I said.

Man with a camera across the street, orange shirt. Two ladies lunching, crossing the street without looking, talking. Teeth behind a beard, flying by on wheels. Yelling, loudspeaker, tour guide, no rain. Concrete drying up, sitting now, turquoise paint on the curb, wood-chips in planters, bushes.

I’ll be out in like fifteen; smears of Spanish moss and a southern girl from the north.

Dog rushing on leashes, parading their owners. Joggers dashing around with their watches and headphones. Still sitting, watching puddles evaporate, watching cigarette butts sit, watching stomachs and hair.

“Wha the fuck’s that about? Don’t you be messin wi’tat dog o’er dere. Thas bullshit. I done brung you out’a wach you piss an you goin hole up your leg an be done. Whas dat? Don’t be messin wi’tat o’er dog.” (falsetto) “Whas dat?”

The shorter man stood on a porch, red shirt hanging on his thin frame, draped. Car pulled up in front, street, taller man standing and looking to the door. Shorter man took the money in a handshake, banged with his fist three times (rap, rap, rap) on the side of the house, played with his phone, went inside. I went away.

“Head on da ground.” (inaudible)

At the fountain spitting again, bench on the opposite side, sitting between people sitting and next to people walking. Palm branches twist to rose on the path by a man in a blue chair, squirrel digging into the ground, scurrying away just as a camera comes out of somebody’s pocket. Dogs again, sitting again, salt again, bicycles. Picnics on blankets and benches, soccer balls.

Price street to Anderson, to Whitaker; smears of Spanish moss and a southern girl from the north.

(singing) “Anything she want,
Anything she need,
I got it.” (exits)

Hopefully later tonight, I’ve gotta see how much work I get done. What do you do when she’s at class? What about tomorrow? When does she have class? Pulaski square, empty, buzzing with little insects and tiny spiders that climb up the back of my neck and fall off. Dead leaves on the dirty ground, church steeples towering in the distance, over the flat roofs. Sitting in the grass, yawning, the bright green smell ripping through with the breeze. Chiming, four in the afternoon, each bell longer than the last, ringing with the cars passing by, ending.

I didn’t think we’s gonna be this busy todaee. ‘Cause them hotels were naught full. What cun I get fur you sweet-y?

Another day, two packets of sugar, ripped, emptied, coffee for a non-coffee drinker. Car park until one-fifteen, sun, beach, dried pink shirt. Fat blueberries that fall apart in between the folds of a big, floppy pancake. Man at the bar, his stomach falling out from beneath a belt tied tightly and accented by his keys. That looks good, they said. Thanks, it is, I said. Check, thank you. Have a nice day.

Seagulls, a child playing with a truck near the tide. Waves crashing into other waves, sitting now. At the ocean, now, Atlantic ocean. Shoes with no socks, sand everywhere. Watching the pelicans swoop near the water, watching the big shipping containers floating in a haze on the horizon, watching the foot-holes in the sand. Cool breeze, whipping everywhere, sun beating down, alone.

Alright, I’m going on a quick bike ride after class at one-thirty, and then I’m coming to get you. We’re gonna go get my oil change and then I’ll keep you company until sevenish. Is that okay? Did I wake you up?

Three-thirty in the morning (textual): When exactly are you coming home?

Abbey’s corner store, gas station, bad part of town. Walking in my shoes, blister behind my right big toes. Padding softly, almost limping, miles walked today, going nowhere, seeing everything. At the ATM, [God’s ATM, the sign says: No surcharge, no fees, insert prayer and receive a lifetime of love] Turn to the real ATM, card cannot be processed, receipt prints with tiny black letters, try again later.

Well, apparently they cancelled both of your cards, they said. I said, I only lost the one, and I could’ve given the account number, but they didn’t ask for it. They said, your ATM card or your debit card. The ATM card, that’s all, I said. They reinstated both of them now, they said. I said, thanks, I’ve only had seven dollars to my name since I got here. They said, anything we can do to make sure everything’s okay. Thanks.