I forgot to write about the cherry glass that had a little bit of Champaign left at the bottom. I was sitting by the Potomac River, contemplating, day dreaming when I noticed the glass on my right. I wondered why someone would just leave it there. Then I wondered about having a glass of my own…
The cherry glass made the scene romantic. And I knew then that it would be worth writing about. But now that I have described the glass and the setting of the scene, I do not know how to tell you the rest of the story. I do not know because there is no story. I could make up a story where a beautiful, lonely girl encounters a beautiful man with a French accent and he offers her his glass and she takes a sip and he takes her hand and…
In reality, where imagination is strictly banned, there was no French man. There was no beautiful girl.
There was a cherry glass with a bit of Champaign left at the bottom. The night was cool and there was a lonely middle-aged man sitting to my right. I was moving to the rhythm of my music and the night was mine.
You can’t get more real than that…
Comments (1)
no hesse up kardan?!!!!!
mooch mooch!
!!!
Posted by sasha | October 13, 2006 1:32 AM
Posted on October 13, 2006 01:32