The arrival

We pulled up to my place at 9:45pm. Feeling greasy from hauling and driving, I pulled on the pants on the top of the stack, which were black, but had to accept my fate of wearing running shoes. Together? Ugh. Then they dragged me to a swanky martini lounge and Asian fusion restaurant near the quad. All the servers were in head-to-toe black. The hostess station was like a podium in the entryway. Two glass-enclosed foyers flanked it, with seemingly identical bar stools, well-turned spheres of wood, and besuited men. They checked their watches so frequently that at first I thought they were waiting on dates, but I think I figured out they were bouncers of some sort. They had gado gado! I hadn't had it since Amsterdam. Food was pretty good. Way too expensive. And slow. I got annoyed with my parents commenting on every woman who went into the washroom. Did they do this when I was little? If so, why do I not feel inclined to it?

Unloaded the boxes in front of the mattress and box springs. Checked out the closets (full). Set up the bed. Made the bed. Toasted with champagne whose cost probably equals a week of my current salary. Slept.


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