Chamblee54

It is 5pm, 420 eve, 2010. PG began the adventure by walking up to the mailbox at Peachtree Dekalb ( spell check suggestions : Denali, denial, dermal, decal) Airport. He took the eighth street route, instead of the normal Tobey road route, for reasons that are unclear but not nuclear.
Thoughts began to accumulate under the 96 olympic hat, and the green venue came when he sat down at a picnic table. This table was at the end of the airport road, in a little park by the runways. There is a sign, a bit up the road, saying to report all suspicious activity at the airport. Is writing in a notebook, on a picnic table under a magnolia tree, a suspicious activity?
PG likes to live dangerously, but living on the edge requires the ability to take a step back from time to time. Turning to his right, on the fence behind some resting planes, is another sign about suspicious activity. Is this paranoia or realism? Is this the connection between the future and the pasture, between mature and manure, or does it even rate a measure of pleasure?
At 5:13 on 420 eve, a black helicopter with FOX in bold letters, took off in an easterly direction. A bird sat down on a picnic table in front of PG, then moved to the relative comfort and security of the magnolia tree. Meanwhile, a table of folks sits quietly on the deck of the downwind restaurant, formerly the downwind lounge.
There was once a moment of paranoia at the downwind facility. It was 1982. PG was living in an addict apartment on Tobey Road, and went out one friday night for beer. He arrived at the gas station at 1147, or two minutes after the legal cut off.
Denied his legal drugs at the Amoco station, PG turned his bike north, went past Tobey and up the hill to the airport. The Downwind lounge was there, in the old control tower building, 45 steps from the men’s room ( an important statistic to beer drinkers). PG locked his bike, climbed the stairs, opened the door, and saw a dozen or so people drinking. They turned around as one, looked at PG, and shouted “stranger”.
It is now 6:54 pm, 420 eve, 2010. PG is sitting at his computer, listening to a French piano player. This means that either no one reported his suspicious journal writing at the airport, or the 911 operator did not get the information to the police on time.