In A Greyhound Station Near You . . .

Someone is swearing loudly that they will never take Greyhound again. Not me. But someone.

Last night's Greyhound journey was not going to convert any Greyhound doubters. I had been on the fence about whether to spend one day in Pensacola or two; having had the nicest time of this trip there (excepting, obviously time spent with people I already know and love) I decided to leave the second day.

At the Greyhound station the attendant was chatty to the point of coming over and sitting by me. He had spent time in L.A.; he wanted to dispel the myth that L.A. was expensive. Also, we talked about Berlin. The bus ride was boisterous, partly due to the presence of several men identically dressed in navy blue t-shirts, khaki pants, and blue slip-on shoes. When I only noticed the matching t-shirts I thought maybe they were a religious group. They talked a lot about booze. There was a girl on the bus who kept bursting into full-voiced song; I started to feel like I was in a musical.

On the way to Tallahassee we passed through a series of beach towns. I kept thinking, I could get off the bus and stay there. But inertia had a hold of me. In Tallahassee we changed buses, headed for Jacksonville. It was late. The girl would burst into song and people would yell at her to shut up. In Jacksonville, I changed to the New York bus. They search your bags at the Greyhound station in Jacksonville, and they wave a wand over you. The bus was completely full, and we milled around for a while having our bags checked. On the bus I sat next to a mother with a small child. She was understandably aggrieved at having to share her seat. I felt bad and dazed and grubby.

I got off in Savannah at 5 a.m. A friendly taxi-driver told me I was right next to the historic district, and I went off looking for a hotel. The light was clear and blue and it was ridiculously beautiful. Somebody was walking behind me; which made me a little nervous. It was a youngish frat guy. He passed me, and asked me where I was coming from. He told me a street where I could find hotels. I was crossing the street, headed that way, when he called me back, and said I should call him if I needed anything in Savannah. He gave me his number.

I stopped in one of the squares to have a cigarette. A fountain was going in the background. I crossed to the street he had told me, and encountered the frat guy coming around again. He told me to call him.

Now I'm in a Best Western with a ladder in my room for reasons I can't quite decipher. I am going to have the continental breakfast, take a bath, and go to sleep.