Asheville III, Atlanta I, Ft Lauderdale I

A day's recovery in Asheville is a shockingly productive activity. After lounging around and making friends (asheville friends) me and Miriam went out for tasty pizza. She paid - perfect pizza. I watched 'Hero', which was ok - not very 'asheville' though.
The next day, however, I truly reaped the reward of the asheville-friend making. I awoke to find breakfast pancakes (six) had been cooked for me by Yana from puerto-rico and Aldi, and they were nice (very). The cool guy whose name escapes me (not pablo) gave me a radiohead sticker for my guitar. Downtown I met, in a nice coffee shop in the bohemian district (one of), a person who had helped me with directions the other day. I next found a brilliant cafe called Loretta's where catwoman (it was superhero wednesday, of course) sat down with me to lunch and told me about a gig of her friend's, playing that night indian music on the chora.
I would have killed to have gone but people were still queueing up to be nice to me and Wallace and Jackie (not wallace stevens and robert frost) drove me to atlanta. Which was superb - they were good company and played good music loud in the car (their friend's band: 'the human art department'). We got to Atlanta and met Mr+Mrs Frost, Jackies Uncle+Auntie, who scared me a little with tales of downtown areas where "white people are set on fire for fun". They drove me to a train station which I could use to get to my hostel. I rolled in safely at 11.30.

The next day I left Atlanta hostel, not so friendly as the rest, and went to the park. I bought a book of Allen Ginsberg poetry from a gay bookshop (I seem to be spending a lot of time in gay bookshops - I think because I just like lively looking bookshops - and now I remember the names of the last two - 'out-spoken' and 'out-write', maybe I should learn to take a damn hint) and took it and read it in a secluded treehouse thing I found in the botanical gardens, which also had some real pretty orchids and enormous insect sculptures.
That evening 'Screen On The Green' happened to be showing, so I went and watched, as the sun went down, 'Butch Cassidy+The Sundance Kid' amongst thousands of happy americans, who cheered when the bad-guys got shot, in the park again. I spent all day in the pretty park, in fact. A man came and told me at one point that God (not just any god, he hastened to add: 'Jesuschristlordorlordskingofkings') loved me because of the peace I understood - he knew I understood such peace because he 'saw me chillin'. The park had lots of what I believe were chipmunks. Cool.

The next day I spoke to a crazy southern man that explained Europe was run by socialists, especially Germany ('noone from the east isn't a communist'), and that Sarkozy was only pretending to not to be socialist, and that was why the poor were suffering. He got very angry when I asked what he was talking about. After reeling for a few minutes, I enjoyed a classic 19.5 hour Greyhound journey south, the highlight (lowlight) of which was the bus leaving the guy I was sitting next to - Muhammed - in a gas-station. I tried to get the bus to stop, but the driver was cold, man: cold. I tried to ring Muhammed but the phone number on his bag didn't work. So there was nothing I could do but stretch out my legs a little further and listen to Paul Simon, who is one of the greatest songwriters of all time.

I just got into Fort Lauderdale and it's brilliant to be here. Say hello to my family of uncles and auties and cousins, and two binny-pigs.