On Friday night, I met up with a friend with whom I had not had ANY contact with for the past 2 years, but when we meet it was like no time has passed at all. Peaches (unfortunate name from his high school days that just stuck) and I caught up on each others adventures on a sun kissed patio over some fine brews and good food.
On Friday night after Peaches and I said goodbye, I headed over to a West Coast Swing dance and hit the floor for 3 hours straight. I wondered, how is it that I can be a sexy inhibited dancing QUEEN here, but am all legs and arms and awkward as hell each time I do the Rumba? Same level of "sexy" required for both dances. Huuuum.
On Friday night, I left the dance hall tired and sweaty and instead of hopping on the subway, I took a detour and a midnight streetcar ride. The driver had a little transistor radio on and the music of Cole Porter hummed gently.
On Friday night I finally got home at 2am and realised that Friday night was long gone. Saturday was here.