When was the last time you looked in a kaleidoscope and turned the cylinder? Pretty, pretty colors.
I am alive, fresh from the glitter store.
Dance like no one is watching.
The world is a good place when you are wearing French cuffs.
I am in trouble with Mrs. King. For some reason, she is accusing me of shedding stray glitter all over the house. I get blamed for everything inexplainable thing. I take my lumps stoically.
I have not mentioned this but my Vespa has been in the shop since my trip to Birmingham. A thousand miles’ wear-and-tear needed to be tuned, up, tweaked, corrected, recalibrated.
My Vespa has been in the shop since my trip to Birmingham. I picked it up this morning.
Mrs. King offered to drive me uptown to the shop, but, being Mr. Thoughtful, as usual, I preferred to not bother her. I took the No. 9 bus.
It took me 48 minutes to get from the intersection of North Broad Street and Esplanade Avenue to the intersection of Napoleon Avenue and Magazine Street. It took me much less time to get home via Vespa.
I just has a long conversation with Tomboy about Turkey and the Wolf, that hipster sandwich joint on Jackson Avenue in the Lower Garden District. Allow me a moment to remember what I am talking to you about.
It took me 48 minutes to get from the intersection of North Broad Street and the intersection of Napoleon Avenue and Magazine Street. There was a shift change at Canal Street that took about 20 minutes. Timing is everything.
How long did it take me to get home from Magazine Street to my front door on the Vespa? Seven minutes.
I am about to wax poetic and philsophical about New Orleans. Paid subscribers only.