It's 8:30 in the morning and I am at work. I'm working, because that's my job to do things work related occasionally on a Saturday morning. I have a head cold, not too terribly terrible, but it's the first phase of it so I am cranky. I noticed it's encroachment last night at Chris' birthday party, a right impressive soreness developing on the side of my throat and tingle in my eyes. This cold was a gift, given directly to me by a small one year old child, a neighbor boy, who loves to put his hands on my face and in my mouth and giggle and smile at me while I allow the entry. I'm sure his fingers served as a perfect bridge for the germs to cross.

We'd been out, having beers and conversation with lots of our favorite people, and found ourselves at a venue where a friend's band was playing. She's got a low lovely voice and the music was bluesy and danceable. There was a tiny woman there standing by the bar, curls and a pert ski slope nose, bare feet and a sheer white eyelet dress, black panties showing through the back, but barely, kind of a inconsequential flirt.

She was with, I think, a tall burly drunken man. Long arms and a dour expression on his face. She'd hit him, sharply, every now and then, or lift a bare foot and poke at him with a toe. He'd turn and look exasperated and then sweep her into his arms and they'd blues dance, closely and well, like a nymph and a satyr, and then he'd throw his arms up and walk off into the storeroom.

I held hands with Chris, drank wine, and the pain in my throat faded for a time.


Post a Comment