A Woman Booked My Carriage in Charleston Every Morning for Seven Days, and Every Morning She Asked Me to Drive Past the Same House. On the Last Day, She Told Me Whose House It Was
I drive a horse-drawn carriage through the historic streets of Charleston. Tourists, honeymooners, bachelorette parties. Then a woman from Chicago booked me for a private tour, every morning, at seven, for a week. She never looked at the mansions. She only wanted to go down one little street and stop in front of one little yellow house.
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