By: Verity Rabin
The streets of Charleston echoed with the sound of music. A man seated on the cool pavement skillfully strumming the strings of his rusted guitar. A sense of wonder lingers in the air, and sweet smells waft into my nostrils; the magnolias are in bloom. Haunted buildings loom over the street. Spirits of the past cast a shadow on the city-dwellers below. I looked up to see the sharp black spikes of a gate. Enclosed inside withered tombstones the souls of those buried beneath introduced themselves through the gravemarkers. To take a walk in Charleston; you’ll never be alone. I took a walk in Charleston and a part of me did not return home.
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