Wednesday, November 10, 2004


Tonight was one of flitting through the cold from one establishment to the next; always taking advantage of corners with ridiculously plush cushions near the radiator and warbly candles burning for ambiance. There was disturbingly priced fondue at the Fuelray and some good conversation with some friendly linguists followed by a nearly futile search for the Ding Dong Lounge, which, eventually, we located and arrived at just in time for the poetry reading we sought. Some imagery was thrown around in a presumably poetic way followed by a woman’s monologue/diatribe of her history of smoking and quitting and so forth. Results: a more profound love for the cold, a more profound love for the warm; a reaffirmation of my preference of prose over poetry (though both have their charms) and a tough love lesson about which stops are local and express.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

sam wattegan again... 4 am where i am...

must you be so weird and cryptic?
seriously, that's all i got.