Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Sixty-Five
The a/c in the office is off. On Friday mode, maybe? It’s 85 degrees in here.
A little bit of perspiration forming as I roll the solly stacked with wine down the hill.
Maybe we just aren’t dreaming big enough.
Not again.
The house will be clean and stay clean for at least another week, though.
The bar is just not for me. We take a corner table outside.
Brown butter-aged beef with spinach and potato gratin.
I’m getting nervous. One more down.
A table of four sits beside us. This is the second year in a row they’ve come to the restaurant. This time, they are celebrating a birthday. He says something about tourists. I tell him that I try to remind myself of how lucky we are to live in a place where people come to take a vacation. We get to live here.
We should do this more often.