Travel drunk texted me

So weirdly enough, not long after I wrote that post a while ago that said I had pretty much reconciled myself to the fact that I wasn't going overseas any time soon (which was itself just a written expression of something I had mentally concluded some years back), I've suddenly had a week-long,  all-expenses-paid trip to Atlanta in a month's time dropped in my lap. This has prompted several thoughts:

1) Huh, this is apparently a thing that happens.
2) Atlanta, eh? Huh. Atlanta. OK.
3) This is a thing that happens to me?
4) Somehow this will end up not happening.

So really, I don't think I've started to think about the actuality of it much yet, since I sort of believe deep down that somehow it will end up falling through – especially if I put a curse on it by believing that it is going to happen. But three thoughts  have nonetheless pushed themselves through this barrier in order to dare briefly considering how this "Ben goes to Atlanta" scenario might play out. They are, in order of occurrence:

1) The getting there part takes about 28 hours. I wonder what that's like.
2) Atlanta is the HQ of Coke.
3) When I get there, the cops will have guns.

Go on, then; psychoanalyse that.