  I hath returned from my travels to the far away land of colleges. And allow me to say, the land is so fucking confusing that I will run to my room and curl into a fetal position. I visited furman, clemson, and emory. The first two are extremely pleasant. The last one is questionable: Atlanta lives on Emory's goddamn campus. So that location is questionable.
But anyway. We spent a lot of time driving with our butts stuck to leather seats. I am back though, and the second I entered my house I got dizzy. The humidity of Memphis, it seems, is not exaclty salubrious to my physical state. Amber agrees. Lovely thing, her.
I am going to steal her away from hr parents and hide her in my room so she won't have to leave. I don't think the medicine is working anymore. It has been doing nothing for the past week, so I shall be discussing with Dr. Price some variation of the stuff. It seems to be causing fatigue in addition to not working. Wonderful. Might as well overdose on advil for a similar effect.
I wrote a surprising lot on the trip. Two of the items I posted on DOY. The piece here I wrote Sunday morning, before we left, and I asked the manager to give it to the actual Robert. I think it made him happy. I dunno, though, as we left immediately after: Robert, out waiter, has the soft eyes and the melted smile of a man who understands his relationship with people. He works when he can, but seems to value talking to someone.
When speaking, his eyes wander, and his voice is beautiful: sad, somehow, and somewhat raspy. Robert, it seems, is still a kid; he knows this, and how it affects his customers. His gentle chocolate skin always shifts into a smile when he talks about driving to Rome daily for his nightly work, after his shift here ends. And though he is just one picture, Robert, has become the fragile part of a web in this intimate community. He has painted the road to the paradoxical power plant in the fields, and the quiet wood and iron bridge, and the tiny shop of pizza and peanuts. I wish he would write about who he is.
Robert's story would be a series of pictures. Heather, why the hell are you in Oklahoma? Alanna and Katherine and Brock and Miles and Amber, we need to do fun stuff before summer is over and we are dying in the senior year that precedes college. (Let the grades I just recieved from the school not bode for next year). 
