I slept horribly. I would’ve been grouchy, but my girlfriend was in from Austin. I picked him up and we had lunch at this wonderful Indian restaurant. The decor was gorgeous. The staff was attentive without being annoying. The food was great.
Well, actually, the Naan was decent but not as tasty as the place near Roy’s and the Daal was Daal. Not spectacular but wonderful over the yummy Indian rice.
We went to CD stores. I found Stoa’s Portus VII, which is generally hard to find. Might be easier to order. Why would you care? Because it’s a brilliantly beautiful album.
I demanded Alex purchase a copy of This Swelling Soul. I think he likes it. I told him he would.
We had no dinner. Inertia and apathy kept us (Roy, Kasey, Alex, and I) in Roy’s apartment, except for the brief coffee jaunt to an uber-hip indie, mom n’ pop coffee hole in the wall down the street run by eco-concious neo-hippies and libertines. We met up with Sunanda there.
We retired to the apartment, because, really, we have Southern Comfort. Renee showed up later. So did Leah. So did Sam and Amy. It was another one of those kick back and chill with cool people nights. It rocked.
Moreso because some kind soul gifted me with some hummous and sourdough (called ambrosia by the greeks) and a fortuitous bottle of Southern Comfort. And yes. I was comforted.
Thankfully, my energy waned, so I was unable to go a viking. Everyone left. I slowly drifted off to the sound of everyone else just sitting there listening to Dead Can Dance.
When I woke, everyone was gone. It was like a dream. I’m still not sure any of it happened.