rainy sunday

Today was peace.  Inside the little apartment, outside in the rainy street, inside my heart and stomach. It was a nibbling day, one of the best kinds: where you are reading or writing or cleaning and only remember to eat when you are done. That is a great hunger – the forgotten kind, and easily satisfied by a big bowl of cereal and some fruit, or the second half of that sandwich from yesterday.

After a day of homebody nibbling, the elegant Msr Nick and I made a date for a poetry reading at L’Etage. When I climbed on my bike, the rain – steady, noisy drops all day – had lightened to a mist. The bike tires barely hissed on the street. Under the streetlights, my body felt light in the bicycle’s motion, sheer and bright, another electric reflection skimming the asphalt. I rode past the vibrating neon cheesesteaks of Pat and Geno’s, the darkened library, empty streets.  Nick was waiting upstairs, whiskey in hand. After an hour and a half of music and intricate words, we skipped out early to get a dessert crepe in Beau Monde’s last 10 minutes of Sunday night.

With little hesitation, we chose chocolate with crispy coconut, to be served with coffee ice cream. The crepe came already divided in two and sprinkled with powdered sugar. The ice cream melted where it hit the hot crepe. Oh, it was cold and bitter and sweet, and the crepe hot and crunchy and milksweet, that back-of-the-tongue cling of good chocolate. The textures and flavors wrapped around my tongue and tingled my teeth. Nick’s conversation about poetry and plans, and the sweetness, richness and perfection of the crepe, carried me home happy tonight.

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