Up early (I love traveling backwards) and my first order of business is to shoot off a draft of a speech for next week's trip to Kenya. Of course, a wireless connection is not easily come by in the home of my godfather the artist-ludite (who calls any computer an "evil black box of death"). Not to be deterred, I call my favorite uptown coffee shop, Refuel , fully expecting them to be closed on Thanksgiving Day. To my great joy, Guthrie (the owner) picks up the phone. "Well, we're not exactly open but I'm cooking up some grits and just brewed coffee. Run on down here, girl!" I love this city. Minutes later, I'm sitting in front of my laptop, shaking my hips to classic New Orleans tunes. The owner serves me two just-out-of-oven-still-steaming palmiers. Hallelujah, lord these are delicious. And sure, why not, I'll take a cup of coffee so long as it doesn't put you out. So he cooks, I write, we both dance, and wow, there is just so m
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