New London sits between the gutter and the stars. When some people walk they jangle with their pockets full of spare change. Some people play by their own rules and shuffle and skylark about. Some people look as it pleases them, without a knot of consideration for what anyone thinks. New London sits squarely on the globe between the gutter and the stars.
Seen delineated on a surveyor’s map, New London balls itself into a fist downtown and punches a cheap, feeble uppercut into the soft gut of the State of Connecticut. Seen from a street map, New London is a bundle of nerves downtown trailing a spinal ganglion down to the ocean. Seen at eye level, walking about one’s internal map and tracing the tracks of muscle memory, New London is a dream.
Bottle rockets burst in New London’s atmosphere during Sailfest. Other, more intimate, still howling, explosions happen every New London night. This is a city built on lust and love and all the measures in between. Once the genie is out of its flask, she refuses to be put back in. New London is full of pretty women with light brown hair. On some weekends, you will find one or two who are strawberry blonde or blond streaked with gray.
Sometimes a relic is wrapped in a bejeweled reliquary. More often, talismans are found in the people we meet. We all have something in common. Some have more in common with our selves than others. All pigs are not created equal. I have found a pearl. I found her in New London.
If a person is good, New London will reward him or her with his or hers heart’s desire. New London is like that. It exists halfway between the gutter and the stars. People are halfway between Heaven and Hell. Better to meet an angel in Hell than a devil in Heaven. New London has provided many introductions over the years. All of them have been good.
Whalehead King has arm-wrestled many demons in New London and he has thumb-wrestled many angels between bouts. If Whalehead King is good, it is because New London taught him how to be.