homeland security

I was born in a small town in north Georgia called Toccoa. Rural, poor, ridiculous. I have no idea what industry is there. My mom's parents moved there from Miami after I was born to be near their youngest daughter and her new baby. My grandfather got a job as a security guard in a textile mill, a thread-factory, in fact. The factory where he worked (a company called Coats and Clark) made the kind of colored thread that girls make friendship bracelets out of. Embroidery thread. So, I guess I'm from Toccoa, Georgia, home of embroidery thread. Home of friendship bracelets.

Now I am in Atlanta, at a yuppie bar with wireless internet, bidding my e-farewells before I head up to north Georgia tomorrow to visit my dad's family. I have been living out of the south for a while now and I could tell myself a story about myself -- the small town girl comes back a city-slicker, prodigal daughter... something. But it would be bullshit. Nobody would believe it and nobody would care anyway. The waitresses are watching me, waiting for me to order something besides coffee, thinking I'll be a shitty tipper. That's ok.

I have to go -- I'm two blocks away from the designating meeting place and I left my cell phone at my friend's by accident. I can't call to tell her I had to walk to a bar to find wireless. Instead, I have to migrate back to the coffeeshop where I started out and wait. She could be there any minute.

I won't be back online till I get back to Portland next Thursday. I'll miss writing.