© 2014 Josh colortunnel


I keep ending up here, down here, somewhere.  Every year it seems, I spend a few weeks to a few months somewhere in the Confederate states.  I have a love hate relationship with the South.  I tend to like the people, the accents, the customs, the genial nature of southern living; but at the same time I never feel totally comfortable here. Maybe with time I’d settle in, Austin is inviting.   I just always feel like an outsider, an observer, an interloper, uninvited and overstaying my welcome.

I can speak the language like a native, and I have an ear for personalities. I’ve been playing the human harp for years now and I can reach the pleasant tones of congenial conversation, conspiratorial gossiping, and truthful, heartfelt sharing, with each varied instrument; however, my default tactic is forgettable banter, and we’re all better for it.   I’m not talking work, work is work; but it does feel like every little interaction I have is a scribble in some novel no one could bear to read.

In previous trips I may have run afoul of the locals, maybe because I was letting too much of myself out too fast; but this time there hasn’t been an ill temper for miles around me.  I’m also seeing a lot more of the beauty down here than I have in the past. Maybe it’s the company i’ve been keeping, having a good dega-bro makes it a lot easier to get along.





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