...swallowing colours of the sounds I hear....
Peppermint Patty, BuddahPat and I terrorize the town. We "watch the game" at our CheersBar and plan where to go next.
"This must be vintage naughe. I mean, the bar's been here a long time."
I was just thinking that! And high quality, too. I can't even feel the seams.
Peppermint Patty agrees that the naughes have been hunted to near-extinction, but is of the misguided opinion that they are large, like bison. Silly woman.
BuddahPat leans against me, telling me he always enjoys spending time with me. Silly man. The feeling is at least mutual. He echoes d., who said something similar over desert this morning (desert rather than breakfast, more decadent and therefore preferable). After which d. continued with,
"I bet you're a lot of fun in bed."
I haven't had any complaints. (from my oh-so-extensive lineup of surveyed consumers)
Well, I sort of make it a policy to be fun no matter what I'm doing. Kind of a life choice, y'know?
"Yes, I can see that."
We made a date for the CityLit festival.
As we exit the second bar, (yes, we DID, in fact, drive downtown for martinis), fluffy crystals flutter down to touch our shoulders and hair. BeachBaby has the thinnest of dusting, as though snow doesn’t feel safe settling on this hot-blooded automobile.
Music surprises us at the third bar. In addition to The Barflies, I recognize a musician or two. One of them greets me with his megawatted smile, teeth tightly closed as though to keep what’s behind them from exploding outward. Mirth? Or something darker? He embraces me, which I did not expect, and so am doubly touched.
I am not yet friendly enough with the new owner to find his inebriation entertaining, but am pleased with the name he dubs me.
Peppermint Patty has left for home, and BuddahPat and I go off in search of nourishment, stopping at my house long enough to turn off the gas stove, inadvertantly knocked into an active state by large dogs in search of stovetop bacon grease. Good thing they're not allowed to smoke cigars in the house, these dogs.
Breakfast is good. Breakfast at two in the morning, cooked by someone else, in a diner unsullied by bar rush, is WONDERFUL.
(Flying High Again; Ozzy Osbourne)