I went to Athens today. It's a college town about 30 minutes east of where I live. UGA plays Oklahoma today and the campus is deserted. The streets mimic a centuries old western ghost town. The lights turn from green to red and back again without audience and I'm waiting for the tumbleweed to cross my path. But occasionally, when the wide receiver fumbles a pass, you hear a collective cry of despair pour out of ever open bar on College St. Two girls dressed in bulldog red pass me on the streets, their heads bent together over a portable tv following the game as they walk. I wander onto campus and pass fountains and trees and unoccupied benches. I stop at the President's Club garden, a semi-circle of wrought iron benches that share space with red and white perennials. I sat and finished Beider's revision of The Romance of Tristan & Iseult and in the final pages the church bells announced the bulldog's victory. On the walk back to my trusty Buick an inebriated man compliments my fringe boots. An afternoon well spent, I suppose.