The last hour of the drive through tidewater North Carolina to my in-laws beach house is through one of the poorest areas of the country. Rusty shacks off the highway. Jesus on the radio. A sign outside the local corner store advertises pizza, AIDS tests, and a carton of smokes for $20.
Once we cross the bridge to the beach, it’s like entering a bag of skittles with candy colored beach mansions and clear blue skies.
We’re down here to check in on the in-laws and recharge our own batteries with long runs and books. I needed it.
Steve rented a convertible from the airport in Raleigh. He and Ian are super happy. I’m stuck in the backseat with wind blown hair.