Last night I drank Sangria Blanco and PBR in a bar filled with stacks of records, old typewriters, and seating made out of pianos and sewing machines. The drinks were cheap, the barkeep was friendly, and the company reminded me of home. Actually, as far as home is concerned, the whole place was reminiscent, down to the smell, of my old house on Laramie Street.
As a Labor Day gift to myself, I have done whatever has struck my fancy all day. I got up earlier than I had hoped to, due to the knocking and subsequent messing about and loud Russian of the super and his laborer, yet I came out of the deal with a closet door that swings on its hinges and a radiator that will work in the winter. I have eaten several meals, I went out for coffee, got some exercise, read a book, talked to MegaClar, sent some emails, and generally lounged about. Replenishing my various resources before continuing Ye Olde Job Hunt on the morrow.
All the Best from Brooklyn.
1 comment:
only you would use the word 'barkeep' you snob... i am reading your blog because well (a) i miss you and (2) i am procrastinating like a sonofabitch... and i am not ariana even though i just did the thing that she does... should i make you guess?
well, let's just say you mention someone 'like' me in your blog.
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