It rained when I drove into Connecticut so it looked nothing like the quintessential Connecticut that my friend Tyler Instagrams constantly (if you ignore all his concert photos).
I was driving to my AirBnB host’s house in a street light-less Glastonbury and my GPS told me to turn left but I looked right where the street turned into trees and I saw fireflies.
It was amazing.
Anyway, my host, Queenie, was born in Alabama then lived a bit in Ohio then moved to Connecticut. She knew she was home because she could finally smell the ocean. And because seafood in the Midwest is questionable. Where is it even coming from?
She told me how her previous guest was taking a sabbatical and touring New England on a bicycle. We both agreed that this guy was much crazier than I was and that’s when I decided to stop complaining about my butt hurting from sitting so long.