pilgrim’s path, sinking chairs & weather that won’t make up its mind!
the air smells like saltwater nostalgia here. maybe it’s the pacific breeze, maybe it’s the ghost of a 17th-century ship crew coughing up their last breath into the harbor. i don’t know. the weather’s a bit of a chaos case-7.69°C according to the app, which somehow also says it feels like 3.75. classic. my arms are frosting over from typing this, and the duffel bag’s stitching is crying faintly like it resents being hauled across three continents.
this part of town-where the lace curtains are wider than your patience-hasn’t changed in 400 years. the pub where i’m writing this? older than the us. stained glass windows that look like someone tried to draw heaven with a broken compass. the bartender’s name is derek, and he’s narrating the history of praveling har min to a group of monks from belize who’ve just broken their vow of silence. i overheard them arguing about whether the lord ever wore a trilby hat. spicy.
someone told me that the ruins of saint peter cherub’s chapel have more ghosts than a seaside funeral home. didn’t see any, but i did spot a heron wearing a tiny fedora on a fence. might’ve been imaginary. who knows anymore. the locals know.
i checked the yelp for the scallop shack and it’s “4 stars-only go if you’re into existential crises”. fair. i tried meditating at the end of the harbor walk yesterday, but the seagulls started a conga line. also, the whirlpools in the tide pool keep syncing with my arc waveforms. could’ve been the rum. maybe it was the rum.
if you’re bored, truro’s an hour up the a39. just don’t trust the operator of the vintage tesla-battleboy bicycle. he’ll challenge you to a duel over parking tows.
unrelated but true: someone mentioned that the local council’s new plan is to replace all the benches with sculptures of very angry cucumbers. still waiting for that hot take. in the meantime, the grass will eat you here if you stand still too long. science says it’s the wind, but i’ve never trusted science since it tried to explain why some people in this town have fur coats for July. liars.
anyway. image 1 is the harbor if you like drowning in gloom. image 2 is someone’s poorly-constructed fantasy of this place for instagram. third is a stone circle that someone claims aligns with carhage’s engineering blueprints. not sure. maybe it’s just a circle of stones. might circle back if i stop editing this in my head and start editing it on a laptop.
Next time this post goes live, i’ll be in belfast. someone told me north down is haunted by a sandwich from 1992. verified by 3 out of 7 monks on the interstate that’s basically a bicycle path. stats don’t lie. Include dog tags in the comments if you want a free pint from derek. he’s buying these days. the end.