There was no telling where we were headed. Not until the moment we left. We had confirmed with two hosts, one in Atlanta and one in Savannah, and had even made tentative plans for the stretches of road between here and Detroit. But it really wasn't until she handed me a new copy of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil that I knew for sure where I was headed.
After all, it had just been a week before that I had planned to go to New Orleans.
It would be stretching things to say that I had left New York and come to Savannah as a result of eating a paillard of call served on a bed of wilted radicchio. But there is a connection.