shazzaz

I fell in love with Tybee when I was 19. If I could offer a soundtrack for the experience it would look like Van Morrison’s Moondance. Mellow, southern, swaddled in heat, sepia. Thirteen miles east of Savannah, Tybee sits on the Atlantic at the end of a small chain of marsh islands.

Cobbs Apartments was a beach front string of old, sinking buildings with a phone booth out front. I have an inexplicable fondness for that place; somewhat decrepit, musty, sand dollars lining the railing. Eventually, the family that owned it (since 1932, I think) sold it and strand-front condos were built in it’s place.

After a few years of mulling it over, I found a local artist who, after corresponding with via email, remembered Cobbs. She agreed to paint it for me, from memory, and it rocked.