Got up early this morning, sat on the balcony watching the drunks stagger back from old-nighters at the bars. One drunk girl pulled down a limb of a Crepe Myrtle to smell the blossom and it slipped out of her hand, smacking her in the face. She fell to the sidewalk and moaned to her companions about how badly it hurt. Her companions simple told her to get her ass up and then they just walked off and left her blubbering on the sidewalk.
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While Debbie was loading the truck, I took the drill/driver and tag up to that balcony and it is now graced with #32.
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We had a wonderful drive through Louisiana, but had to get on the interstate to get through Biloxi and Mobile.
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The beaches are deserted. I tagged a bench near a 17 mile stretch of empty shoreline with #78. Rather sad actually...the desertion not the tagging. They say that last year you would have had a hard time finding a place to put up an umbrella.
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We are now half way between Gulf Shores and Orange Beach, Alabama. Right below our balcony we can see the guys in their Haz-Mat suits and shovels.
And our hotel is all but empty.
And here's why...and it looks like this for miles and miles and miles...
I take pride that I can find humor in anything...well, almost anything. There is nothing funny about this.
I got my sample of the sand and oil, but just between you and me, this is fucking depressing.
But don't lay all the blame on BP or the government.
If you don't drive a fuel efficient car...blame yourself.
If you live in the suburbs and commute to work instead of living in the city...blame yourself...especially if you drive alone.
If you fly on airplanes...blame yourself.
It is our insatiable fuel gluttony that is to blame.
I think I will go out and buy a golf cart...oh, wait...I already own a golf cart. Which makes me feel better about driving for six weeks for no other reason than entertainment.
I told you this place is depressing.
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