When I think of Atlanta, I think of Miller High Life on front porches, I think of lazy Taters in the mid-day sun, and I think of sweet Skittles sneaking in the grass. I think of unincorporated home-made speed bumps, dirt weed spliffs passed door to door, shotgun pillows, safeties safely open, window breezes, honeysuckle sweetness, blackberry baskets, gas station hot dogs, twinkie hoarding, and a neighbor with cigs when you run out of butts. I think of lawlessness and irreverence, of prayers for freedom, and for prayers of shame. I think of reparations and justice, unearned mercy, loving forgiveness, redemption and acceptance. But most of all, I think of all the great hugs, and I think of how blessed I am to have lived the counter-intuitive serenity of deep south anarchy.
Posted on: Sat, 08 Jun 2013 12:26:15 +0000
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