welcome back, all. metro monday is back in business, and you know what that means - i'm not sitting on a chaise listening to the waves of the light blue waters and wondering when that beach boy is going to show up with my beer. son of a bitch.
i was hoping for a gem this morning, for something to make me laugh and remind me that DC can be fun in its own way.
but no.
i couldn't even focus on one person this morning. it was like a sea of drab. dark coats, dark suits, dark faces. a few beige coats for those who were feeling spunky. i glanced up at the reflection of myself as we approached rosslyn, in my winter white coat (to highlight the tan, of course! folks, i haven't been this tan since i was 15) surrounded by blah, i couldn't help but feel like it was a bad dream. and when the train stopped at foggy bottom, some of the overhead lights were out. it was like a cave down there.
24 hours ago i was taking the morning stroll down rue mont vernon to the boulangarie for the daily croissants and baguettes with B - walking slowly in flipflops that caught every stone in the road ... the sun pinching my sun burnt arms ... and the salty air. this morning, as i trudged through the foggy bottom station, lights out, the smell of burnt train brakes ... i couldn't help but feel like i could not have found a place on earth further from st. martin.
welcome back. sigh.
on a brighter notes, pics and stories to come soon. including the infamous (at least to B, R and i ... as well as the many beachgoers on orient beach) mr. pocket. people, you are in for a real treat. a little teaser.....
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