I am a New Londoner. I am puffed and bouyant because of that fact. If I am damned and deluded, so be it. I can shake my fist with impunity. If the rest of the world doen't notice, no matter. I will have my say. I will have my city. I know secrets. I am a man in love with his surroundings.
I travel under the spirit of the whale totem. My tribe may seem ragtag and motley, dusty and deluded and disconnected from reality, but we are all interconnected with each other and plugged into the New London state of mind. Hell has no chutzpah like a tiny city scorned.
My actions occur in a flurry of spume and flukes. My song reverberates in undiscovered depths. My soundings chart landscapes and seascapes familiar only to the luckiest few. Darkness is my element, sunlight is my destination, a gulp of fresh air is my goal and reward. I ask for nothing but freedom of the seas, free access to shore, the touch of unfettered wind on my nose and back, and the charge of electricity that ignites my vast heart. I am a spirit congealed and marled around sturdy bones. My existence, like New London's is proof that long odds can pay dividends beyond the measure of money.
As the years unfold, each day brings another anecdote, another detail in New London's mosaic. More than a forgotten seaport neglected in history's parade, New London is a place where small miracles are common. New London is a place that charms as much as it inspires. New London, Connecticut is the kind of place that nutures ideas that will one day take over the world.
Pay attention: New London is calling.
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