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BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA<br />
There was an unexpected change of plan<br />
here in Birmingham. With my pillion <strong>book</strong>ed<br />
on a flight out of New York five days before me<br />
- due to work commitments - and us nowhere<br />
near NY, she was forced to take an internal<br />
flight in order to catch her international one<br />
home to England. This would mean the last<br />
1000 miles without a passenger. Not ideal but<br />
the only workable solution.<br />
The day before her flight we ventured into<br />
downtown Birmingham, aiming for the Civil<br />
Rights Museum that is located beside Kelly<br />
Ingram Park - named after the first African<br />
American sailor to die in World War I. The<br />
museum was a sombre place, with images and<br />
stories of horrors committed not that long ago.<br />
We lament the barbarity of the present, but it<br />
always seems as though it’s been in us.<br />
A homeless man outside by the name of<br />
Andrew gave us a tour of the park. He’d lived<br />
just a few blocks away from the park during the<br />
civil rights protests that took place here during<br />
the sixties. He was mournful. Industry in the<br />
city had gone. Commerce fills some of the void.<br />
That commerce now encroaches on the area<br />
around the park. It seemed like he felt as though<br />
the battle had still been lost. Andrew directed<br />
us to a great local diner called Miss B’s. We took<br />
him back a takeaway dinner, but he had gone.<br />
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