Entering Georgia, the radio is changing. Every other station seems to be a harangue mocking “mainstream media” for getting worked up about Trump’s solo meeting with Putin, or bemoaning Obama “spreading seeds of jihad”.
I bypassed Atlanta to stay with a former roommate from Brooklyn, Tiffany, in Douglasville, a faraway suburb. Tiff had moved back home to Georgia to be with family and raise her son. She’s a dedicated Christian, with framed psalms in her house, and as a believer in Jesus, she’s horrified by the Trump supporters surrounding her. I had noticed “Don’t Tread On Me” signs on numerous lawns, and realized that I’d reached the dreaded land of “the base”.
We caught up and I played with baby Jonah. Tiff warned me to be careful walking Stormy – the lawns in Douglasville were full of snakes. I had smelled something really pungent in the air, and that’s what it was. Snakes.
The show was at Circus School of Atlanta, which opened recently in an old church. The stage was the pulpit, with arched ceiling, stained glass, and candelabras. A beautiful place to play in, and wonderful circus folks to hang out with.