March 26 Sunday. The Circular Congregational Church reminded me of the Round Church in Cambridge, England. This Romanesque Revival structure, as my Lonely Planet informed me, boasted three circles, one for each member of the Trinity. The cemetery was small but well-maintained. Winston was particularly interested in a grave for three brothers who died when they were children. The epitaph was composed in rhyming couplets. We also looked into the cemetery of St. Michael's Episcopal Church, lit by bursts of pink and red azaleas.
Dinner was at Blossoms, a relative newcomer to restaurant row. My blackened mahi was delicious and Winston's crab ravioli better. The waiters, mostly male, were white and blond and young and, since they were not simalacra of each other like in New York City, presented a procession of blond in different shades and shapes. I could almost believe I was eating in Abercombie & Fitch, except for the barracks-like ceiling of the restaurant. My faith was shakened by the memories of my National Service nightmare.