All I need - a violet and a fedora.
There have been way too many things going on.
Sometimes it seems like it's all I can do to go check my favorite blarghs, think about posting a comment, and go back to work without responding. (I could be so clever if I just had the time!)
The winter is breaking up and I think that's sunshine on the windowpane. Could it be? Yes, I think it is actually sunshine. When the violets blossom I will know that I have just barely survived another Michigan winter.
I miss my people in Kalamazoo. I miss my coffee house. I miss my pub (which has since been remodeled into a trendy dance club - damn kids.) I miss my job on the fourth floor of the Haymarket building. I miss the Little Theatre and their independent films. I miss the little hill in Bronson Park.
But here I am; in a tame suburb of Detroit. With no loft. And the only thing that made me grin today is the 57 year old print salesman who wears a fedora and wool trench coat. He shares my sense of humor you see. And he has an appreciation for style.
***
Bring me a violet, darling, and a vodka martini with vermuth soaked olives and I shall be happy.
Sometimes it seems like it's all I can do to go check my favorite blarghs, think about posting a comment, and go back to work without responding. (I could be so clever if I just had the time!)
The winter is breaking up and I think that's sunshine on the windowpane. Could it be? Yes, I think it is actually sunshine. When the violets blossom I will know that I have just barely survived another Michigan winter.
I miss my people in Kalamazoo. I miss my coffee house. I miss my pub (which has since been remodeled into a trendy dance club - damn kids.) I miss my job on the fourth floor of the Haymarket building. I miss the Little Theatre and their independent films. I miss the little hill in Bronson Park.
But here I am; in a tame suburb of Detroit. With no loft. And the only thing that made me grin today is the 57 year old print salesman who wears a fedora and wool trench coat. He shares my sense of humor you see. And he has an appreciation for style.
***
Bring me a violet, darling, and a vodka martini with vermuth soaked olives and I shall be happy.
posted by Noir Muse at 4:22 PM
2 Comments:
You should take the 57 year old print salesman on a platonic date to that diner. He'll look around for the hat rack while you browse the jukebox selection.
You run out of things to talk about halfway through lunch, but somehow it doesn't feel awkward.
And then I also have Latigo Flint. The squinty eyed Starbucks patron. Thank my stars for the buckskin wearin' momma chasin' Eastwood stalkin' quick draw. Who else would call me out when I'm pushing the envelope on cliché?
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