This was the second
4th of July I spent in Valdosta, Georgia; my grandparents-in-law live there, on a lake, in a hundred year old house. As a post-graduate, Southern Lit-focused English major, I'm the first to admit that I romanticize the shit out of that place - but it's truly the EPITOME of the fictional South: beautiful and in decay; sweaty; probably haunted. Something in my brain switches off (and something else switches ON) when I'm there, and there's no place I'd rather be in the dead of Summer.
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