Back From a Long Hard Day of Labour in the Southern Fields

My cashmere sweater didn’t have the desired effect I had intended. We started off the day in a very popular French bakery for some coffee and sandwiches. They quite honestly had some of the best bread I’ve ever had — a very busy and bustling place. We were seated outdoors — because I had my coyote with me and she was very angry — energetically growling and snarling at the nice southern gentry who took the opportune to acknowledge her grace and presence. Lucky for them I had an awfully tight grip on her metal leash, otherwise she’d snap their fingers clean off their inquisitive hands.

We then took upon the neighborhoods of Cary and found them to be of an advanced cookie cutter varietal. There is an artistic quality to them — but most are bereft of any meaningful amount of property — since land is valuable here — not in the sense per square foot in the real estate market — but in much needed demand for fuckheaded contractors who keep slapping up new communities for Yankee transplants.

Later on I visited the UNC campus at Chapel Hill and my dog took a gigantic dump in front of the old library. It’s a fine campus and my wife made sure to buy a plethora of meaningless garb. I, myself, only bought a shot glass — since I collect them wherever I go.

We then went to Duke University, since my son might want to get his graduate degree there. It reminds me very much of Princeton University with its gothic architecture and obnoxious symbolism. We dined in Durham, just across the street from an old masonic temple, and everyone was overly pleasant, but I didn’t notice any heavy southern fried chicken accents or handlebar mustaches, which was disappointing. I expected more south in this Northern part of Carolina; but it seems everyone here is from up north — regular fuckheads who drive their cars like imbeciles and do not even eat grits in the morning. There are far more Southerners up north in Virginia, even in Pennsylvania than out here. Again, disappointing.

Tomorrow is easter, so we have some dining arrangements and I’ll be heading out towards Winston-Salem too, in search of southern gentry. My sweater was supposed to instill fear today — but it didn’t because no one even noticed what was going on. There is very little time and occasion for pageantry, as it seems the people from here just toil and drive their cars as violently as possible. There isn’t even a Main Street and I haven’t spied a single sidewalk in Cary.

Tomorrow I intend to wear my hedge fund styled vest with a Brooks Brother button down — very northeast prick attire. I have zero expectations of intimidating the folk down here, as it seems to me they’re all too stupid to understand what’s before them — so stupid I doubt most of these people know they’re alive.