Who knows what to say anymore. Have another bit of my travelogues. Again, transcribed text is followed by the handwritten entry.
Tuesday, July 18th
My Darling Pittsburgh,
They really broke the mold when they made you, didn't they? It has been over a week since you kissed me goodbye - electric with a rainstorm fit to turn into jealous fools even Atlanteans. The look about you - hurt and proud, dejected and resilient - may have elicited tears from a woman without a return date. You have such an old, dark soul so proudly on display in the roughly-hewn Flemish-Gothic stonework, but, too, just next to that and only a year younger, you flash the unrestrained deco elegance of the Grandest Hotel in the nation. You know yourself better than most, and, so, when you found your steel days ending, you made for yourself a second renaissance and capped it off with a glorious neogothic cathedral with which to celebrate your self knowing, though, that neither your eyes are glassy nor is your heart steel. You are warm, and you are bright. You are self-aware in a way that few other cities are. America, it has been said, is the only country that doesn't know what it is and whose people search for its soul, but you, Steel City, you know where you came from and to where you are going. Your wardrobe is all over the place, though not in the way of the benefactor of myriad hand-me-downs but as the ever-emergent eccentric. You, my love, are singular. There has never been nor will ever be another you. They just don't make 'em like you anymore, and that's a good thing. If I had another love so deep as you, surely I would be split in half.