Within 48 hours of touching down in Asheville, North Carolina, I have had chewing tobacco randomly spit across my path (he did apologize), was inadvertently burned with a cigarette (he did not apologize), watched a crowd of ignorant high school boys taunt a gay rights activist march at Bele Chere (one of the boys took a break from yelling "It's going to be hot in hell" to tell me that I was beautiful; I smiled back sweetly and told him I was a lesbian), ended up on a dark mountain road with drunk people and no mode of transportation, and bailed a friend out of jail.
My signature is now on file in the Buncombe County Courthouse, logged at 3:15am on Saturday, July 26, 2008, where we had a mini-highschool reunion with former classmates waiting for sisters, boyfriends and husbands, who had been arrested for disorderly conduct, public drunkeness and/or harsher charges.
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Super Bad Brad
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2 comments:
Here is a piece of unsolicited advice that I’m sure you don’t need to hear, but might find reaffirming. I spent two glorious decades in NYC. After my wife and I had our daughter, we were exiled to New Jersey. I don’t doubt that Asheville is lovely, but don’t get any ideas. New York City is the place to be. But you knew that?
I agree! We miss you down here but we'd rather be up there...TRUST ME!
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