CHARLOTTESVILLE IS . .

Charlottesville is . .
. . you know your life is over, really over, no way that it's not over, then your life begins again in Charlottesville.

Charlottesville is . .
. . people not caring where you come from, where you are in life, or that your life is over, they're just happy to have you in Charlottesville.

Charlottesville is . .
. . people not caring what you do for a living, really not caring.

Charlottesville is . .
. . musicians who are going to be super-famous one day soon, but today they're just happy to have you at their gigs, and they'll stop by your table just to talk to you.

Charlottesville is . .
. . big-city crime in small neighborhoods, and small-town crime all over.

Charlottesville is . .
. . black chicks who help you understand life, and black guys who help you understand chicks.

Charlottesville is . .
. . a Gemini female, and a drunken one at that.

Charlottesville is . .
. . streets laid out by a woman whose husband got too drunk to do it, so she took over in a snit at four in the morning, and now only women can find their way around Charlottesville.

Charlottesville is . .
. . the Twisted Branch Tea Bazaar, which is even more Charlottesville than Charlottesville itself (though it was founded by a bunch of Richmonders).

Charlottesville is . .
. . Tucker Duncan, and Tucker Duncan is Charlottesville (but don't tell him I said so).

Charlottesville is . .
. . sloping hills like women's breasts and beauty like no other.

Charlottesville is . .
. . a full rainbow arc over Main Street, over the Blue Moon Cafe. A full rainbow that has a second rainbow just behind it. It only lasts a couple minutes, just long enough for you and everybody else to spill out on the streets to catch it. And you all stand there and gawk because you've never seen anything like it before.

Charlottesville is . .
. . endless Muse for poetry and music.

Charlottesville is . .
. . sixteen-year olds who know everything, and sixty-year olds who don't.

Charlottesville is . .
. . love.

Charlottesville is . .
. . outlying communities that are even more beautiful than Charlottesville itself, but nobody's ever heard of them, because the villagers want to keep it to themselves.

Charlottesville is . .
. . kittens who come to you out of hedgerows, then become lifelong companions, ever reminding you of the best characteristics of Charlottesville..

Charlottesville is . .
. . magic.

Charlottesville is . .
. . bad service from good people.

Charlottesville is . .
. . a bike shop where the owner smokes way too much pot, and he keeps your bike if he wants to, but he knows all about old Raleighs and that's enough to make you King of Charlottesville.

Charlottesville is . .
. . 'yes'.

Charlottesville is . .
. . you can't leave it even if you want to because of the big rubber band that wraps around the entire town snapping you back if you try.

Charlottesville is . .
. . people putting up with you, and you don't know why they put up with you, but you're just glad they do.

Charlottesville is . .
. . things that should go bad never going bad, or at least, if they do, something good comes of it.

Charlottesville is . .
. . the people you fall head-over-heels over fall head-over-heels over you.

Charlottesville is . .
. . coincidences, HUGE coincidences, coincidences that pile up into one big COINCIDENCE.

Charlottesville is . .
. . Elvis flipping burgers at a Joe College joint, wearing full sideburns, with his pink Cadillac parked outside, and he doesn't mind if you call him 'Elvis'.

Charlottesville is . .
. . home.
© 2004 by Michael J. Farrand


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