T.

Last night Paul and I watched Christmas Ships on Lake Washington,
neatly tucked beside each other at the water's edge, a perfectly conical
bonfire shooting sparks thirty, forty feet into the night sky. A girl's choir
sang Carols, and no rain. Paul clutched his "red" martini glass; mine
(yes, plural, more than two) had already been tidily quoiffed
prior to our half-block trek to the beach. Pomegranate martinis:
tarte and vermillion. And then back to the party, where coffee
and lemon water replaced alcohol. And oh, we're getting on:
we left prior to 7:30, came home and fell asleep. Party. Animals.