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ITINERARY: ALL TIMES APPROXIMATE
Seattle-based Strong is a writer and musician and sometimes-sleepless night worker.
7:00 a.m.: get off work and be surprised by girlfriend, who is intent on getting breakfast somewhere, maybe anywhere.
8:15: more than a little creeped out by diner clientele.
8:30: hear drunk (yes, at half-past 8) slur to waitress: "Hey baby, I like your shorts." Inwardly debate whether to laugh or shudder. Decide on both.
9:40: finally get home, walk immediately to bathtub. Soak until fingers and toes are uncomfortably wrinkled. Be reminded, as always, of epic bath-time toy-wars long overdue for reenactment.
1:15 p.m.: abandon all attempts at getting some sleep.
1:45: inadvertently get caught up in anti-Prop 8 rally. Shrug and join the parade. We are, at the very least, walking in the same direction.
1:50: help aged lesbian couple hold their sign. Remark with as much enthusiasm as can be mustered on the cleverness of the sign's pun.
2: feel increasingly awkward as downtown is approached. Wonder why people on sidewalk are cheering and clapping, as if those walking in the street are somehow more involved than they are. Get randomly embraced by strangers for the second time in as many weeks.
2:05: be more than a little moved by thousands of people chanting for equal rights. Question whether or not the changing sociopolitical climate is a mirage. Decide to delay that judgment a little longer.
2:15: look back across the beloved city. Wonder exactly how many people are on this street. Decide that it has to be more than 10,000. Realize with suppressed annoyance that media will exaggerate this number to both extremes. Think about the last time this many people were in our streets, and how misrepresented it was by media.
2:30: buy a razor and stick of deodorant. Shave in the public transit bathroom. Get significantly fewer weird looks than expected.
3:30: decide once again that a few minutes of sleep is hardly worth it.
4: wake with a start in a familiar town. Wait uncomfortably on the curb for the yellow van to appear.
7: play an ill-attended show in the industrial neighborhood of a shitty town. Have a great time anyway. Get a ride with friends to the Marriot hotel.
9:35: enter the hotel and experience the absolute strangeness that is a celebratory banquet for racecar drivers. Smile over the smirk as you meet several people, evidently believed--by themselves, if no one else--to be of some importance. Wait patiently for next ride to finish her goodbyes.
10:30: arrive suspiciously early to work, and settle in. It's going to be a long shift.
LAST DAY IN BIRMINGHAM: A TWITTER ITINERARY
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