Today I took the train to Providence, Rhode Island (“The Biggest Little State in the Union” as a tourism tagline once claimed
of this misnomer of a place).
Along the way, I was pleased to see that the decaying bridge over the Sharon
Commuter Rail stop had been replaced by an uncharacteristically handsom (for
Puritanical Massachusetts) span. Delightful!
I can’t claim to have an intimate familiarity with infamous home of H. P. Lovecraft, but in the past it has always failed to overwhelm my expectations. Providence was known to me more for it’s Foxy Lady gentleman’s club and corrupt politicians than for hosting Brown University or anything else that might interest me. However, the city seemed a whole lot more tasteful this time to me from the train station, which lays at the foot of State House.
When I concluded my business there, I patronized a Border’s bookstore where I found the delightful Lovecraft memoir, Lovecraft at Last. As a fan of the late author of weird tales, this book was a welcomed find. As an unwarranted bonus, the saleswomen who processed the order was overly gifted with womanly attributes. And that just endeared Providence to me all the more.
On reflection, I probably would have visited this city sooner had the staff of The Foxy Lady had simply sold books in between lap dances.
All I’m saying is that Providence is a hell of town. That’s all.