It is I, Faustus. I have returned.
I was away for two weeks at what I can best describe as an artists’ colony; the work my collaborator and I did there went very well.
Then I flew to North Carolina for a week-long top-secret mission.
I knew I was in North Carolina when, for dinner the first night, I was served chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, and fruit salad with maraschino cherries and little marshmallows in it.
Let me assure you that I don’t need to be reminded of the reasons I left the South.
But if I did, this sure would have helped.