Old home 80s dance joint days besieged me while minding my own business, hanging with Karen following her dad's untimely wake. Being the super-pal that I am I whisked her away from Amigone Funeral Home (listed somewhere in Ripley's for its namely uncanniness) to O - sushi and cocktail emporium. There we were greeted by someliere Bryan who brandished an excellent chard and then some comp snacks. We sat in the lounge and supped and drank and lounged until the cheeseball rock-type trio began to play their decibels into our left ears. One bottle down and Karen turned to me stating Well that did nothing for me, I'm getting another. Then more. Then drinks with the rock stars. Then more and more of the cast of characters from 80s-era Continental flowed into O and we all marvelled at our sticktoitiveness, our undying love for the niteliphe, the glowing bar embers of blue that, I was musing, reminded me of another bar where I practically lived during the 90s, Icon, where I became after-hours conscious of many things, including my fleeting and uneven affair with Jagermeister, my burgeoning friendship with Dorota and the realization that art and merrymaking can and should live side by jowl. At O the rock stars took a much for us needed break, we lounged some more and made our way back into the 10 degree F night.
Onwards to more. An art opening that I forgot to submit work to, an other night of gladheartedness I will not forget to submit to.
Glad glad Love.