Downtown Atlanta looks like it’s preparing for a party whose guests never came.
Those party streets are as empty now on Sunday morning as they were when I arrived at 8pm last night.
I’m just out for a wander through the empty streets, headed towards the shining gold dome lit up by the early morning sunshine – the Capitol Building, of course.
All the parking spaces for the Governor’s staff are filled; they’re mighty committed to Georgia, I must say.
Across the road is the imposing Shrine of the Ascension, the white-tipped church of the Roman Catholics, and, before that, the smaller, somewhat sweeter grey church of the Presbyterians.
Why am I not surprised there is only a thin line between church and state in Georgia?
On the street are the tired, all crumpled and worn; the weary, pushing little trolleys loaded with their worldly possessions away from the rising sun; and the early for church in their Sunday bests. All seven of us.
A squirrel bounds across a wide road, a bus bearing down upon it. Sometimes I wonder if squirrels are all that’s left of the animals of the lower half of the USA. Little bitty animals sitting right at the top of the food chain.
Atlanta, in case you don’t know it, is home to Coca Cola. I think that says a lot, although I”m not sure exactly what.
Today my publisher scoops me up from this footpath and the business end of the book tour begins.
Watch this space.