Abstract
Day one the project nearly killed me. The big Cadillac was driving backroads from the Tallahassee airport to Colquitt, Georgia, past shanties, piney woods, and peanut fields. On a narrow strip of tarmac hemmed in by trees, Joy Jinks, my white, So-something hostess, pulled around a log truck. The truck swung left blocking the Cadillac's path. Time opened like a door as my brain recorded the nanoseconds. It is my fantasy that I did, indeed, die that day. So much of what I used to be as an artist is dead because of that trip. Since I came to Colquitt, I wonder
Talk to us
Join us for a 30 min session where you can share your feedback and ask us any queries you have
Schedule a callSimilar Papers
Disclaimer: All third-party content on this website/platform is and will remain the property of their respective owners and is provided on "as is" basis without any warranties, express or implied. Use of third-party content does not indicate any affiliation, sponsorship with or endorsement by them. Any references to third-party content is to identify the corresponding services and shall be considered fair use under The CopyrightLaw.
