Pour one more glass of red. Let it slosh around the sides when it pours, let there be a clunk when the bottle goes back to the bench.
Turn down the lights, lean back in your chair. Sip on your wine, sip again, close your eyes.
Augie March. Moo, you bloody choir.
Go back to the best, the best, the very best night of your life. And then further back to the one that was better than that. The one you can only bear to think about every now and then.
What a night. What a song. What a night.
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2 comments:
Late December back in '63?
Zoe, you are a very, very funny woman. (So is 1P3C, of course.)
I've got a pretty nice memory of dancing with a pretty nice boy to 'No Woman No Cry' out on the veranda, mid-December back in '79.
And then there was the time when the child husband and I sat on the front steps of Martindale Hall looking at the night sky and reciting all the poetry we could remember about stars, with Handel's Water Music floating out across the lawn.
Oh, dear.
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