My journal entry for the final leg of The Migratory Office’s first business trip: Charleston, SC.

and finally Pat wakes up and Joe’s been awake for a little while and we all agree that NOW, on this big sweaty car ride that started at five am with pretty much no sleep and way too much coffee from the thrift store thermos, that THE TIME HAS COME FOR THE SINGALONG. and out of the speakers jumps arcade fire’s “funeral,” and now it’s windows down and heads thrashing and we shout along to the parts we know and mumble vowels over the parts we don’t and play drums on everything and THIS IS THE HOME STRETCH down I-26 and the speedometer of this magnificent beast is pushing 90 but the-other-cars-are-doing-it-too so it’s okay, and for the softer songs we lay back and pant like dogs and it’s that great sweaty moment where the wind is cooling you everywhere and you stare at the skyclouds and your mind does that “REMEMBER THIS” thing and you’re just happy to be MOVING towards A COAST! because back while they were sleeping i decided i’m driving this thing straight into the ocean and there’s nothing else i need more than to dive into those waves and lick my lips all salty and completely wrap myself in the water and hair-be-tangled! and that’s exactly what happens and madeline meets us there and of course i tackle patrick into the ocean in his jeans and button-down shirt and he’s all soaked but fuck it, he dives in and i dive in and joe finally decides to dive in and its way too windy for a frisbee but WHO THE HECK CARES and it’s a little more fetch than catch with Reliable Pink Disc that keeps almost getting lost, and pat’s jump-kicking the waves and i’m diving through them and joe’s stepping over them until we’re too tired to move and we flop back on the beach, chests heaving, out of breath and sorta doing the nice-to-meet-you-what-do-you-do-shuffle with madeline but mostly just letting the five o’clock sun blind us and the let the sand stick to us in too many places and just waiting until our bellies finally cry out for love and that’s exactly what we do, reluctantly throw on shirts and start back inland, but only slightly, and only because we haven’t had a good meal since leaving our fair city, and tonight’s taco night.