St. Louis is home to a nice big arch, some buildings and—oh who cares, I’m here to see this guy:
I leave whatever I experienced in Georgia and I go to Tennessee. Near the border I encounter what is calmly referred to as a “cold front”. It drops 40 degrees (Fahrenheit) in the span of two miles and the rain starts. The unending, crashing rain. Fortunately the sky has worn itself out by morning. I still want gallons of water dumped on to me, though, so I’m off to Ruby Falls.
I made it out of Florida alive, but its effects still linger. What I mean is, I’m not sure what I experienced in Georgia wasn’t a fever dream. There are pictures, but my camera went through a tough as time as me, so it’s pretty unreliable. I’m here to visit a little thing called the Georgia Guidestones. They are near… nothing. They are just plonked in a field in the middle of nowhere in Georgia.