This weekend I went to a downtown patio party in Montparnasse. Okay, so it could have been in Flagstaff. It was hosted by a popular local photographer, let's call him ManRay, who was celebrating the solstice with his woman and extended family. I was introduced as "part of the family."
This is starting off charmingly! I thought to myself.
|bonbons = bon amour|
The outdoorsy filmmaker was there, let's call him Puck. And he called me by my nickname, then apologized, but since I always think of him as a mischievous fairy who plays pranks on people, there really is no need for apologies...
The recognizable yogi was there, with colored strands in her hair and a purple slinky thing that probably should have been illegal. Her nice husband and kids had just bought her a pole. Pole dancing was her new thing. This sounded really exciting.
I had an a-ha, a mid-party realization; I don't listen or ask for gossip anymore; my esteem went up an inch.
A man was referenced. And referenced again. Then once more.
I met a connection, talked business just long enough to send the receipt to the tax man, and then found a very interesting and magical trail-off. Amazing.
The shrimp/mango ceviche, the bon-bons, the white sangria, the conversation, the urban brick walls, the twinkling lights, the saxophone, the weather, the compliments, the friends.
And... then it was time to go. Sleep well, sun, you might be tired from shining so hard.
|sitting on the steps|
|lights, gold brick, and a Grand Canyon artist|