Me and Rosemary Ahern are taking a road trip to Savannah, Georgia to the childhood home of Flannery O'Connor. We zip down the Interstate in an open convertible.
"Pass the cheese doodles," she says.
I can't hear her over Bruce Springstein blasting on the radio. Also, I am asleep.
"Doodles!" she demands. "Wake up, writer!"
But I am busy dreaming about books.