They converge in the Market Street Bars and Restaurants and all along the Battery and Rainbow Row…gazing quizzically at the Italian Ice stands on King Street…wandering through White Point Gardens…snapping photos of kids astride Civil War cannons and mother-in-laws sitting on park benches.
Trotting alongside horse carriages…hoping to get video footage of a plop into a government-mandated diaper…whimpering as they stub their ample toes on the cobblestones and crooked sidewalks.
Off to the beach…sporting their chili stained tank tops while flip-flopping aimlessly along our sandy shores…gleefully whooping as they collect broken up, barnacle encrusted conk shells by the barrel full.
Mumbling and grinning…lapping up ice-cream cones and stopping at a moments notice to burp out their grating, nasal cry to anyone who will listen. The utterance which so assails the senses…and awakens within the psyche of native Geechie-Landers a deep feeling of pity tempered with an innate sense of superiority: