Into the blue again
2024-04-07 00:26WHRB was playing '80's J-pop with female vocals all my way home from dropping off ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rushthatspeaks. I kept feeling I should recognize anime OPs. In the evening we had taken our dinner from Shojo in Chinatown to Castle Island where we ate our pork belly and fried eggplant bao sitting on a rain-roughened block of granite at the top of the seawall until the rain thickened and we repaired to the car to finish our duck fat fries with sriracha aioli. We arrived just as dusk was coming on; the luminous overcast of the water darkened from periwinkle to mussel-pearl. Illuminated by a ceaseless line of incoming planes, the flight path through the clouds looked like a portal for UFOs or one of those roses in a medieval revelation through which an insect cloud of angels emerges into a painting by Bosch. It glowed so steadily, we thought at first it was the moon. There were clumps of seaweed cast up into the grass of the park. The air was salt and so cold both our hands numbed. The last time we ate from this restaurant together, it must have been one of the last restaurants we ate at together, still early enough in the year four years ago that when he proposed and I accepted we did not realize it would be a cholera wedding. This time we would also have tried for donuts from the Mochinut across the parking lot, but there was nowhere to stop on the street. I have now been made aware of the debaculous existence of Evermore Park, following which spatch offered the antidote of Puy du Fou. I maintain that the part where it sure looks like the pope emerges from the lake really should be some kind of Arthuriana. I have had the same crunching headache for two days, but they have been two good days nonetheless.
rushthatspeaks. I kept feeling I should recognize anime OPs. In the evening we had taken our dinner from Shojo in Chinatown to Castle Island where we ate our pork belly and fried eggplant bao sitting on a rain-roughened block of granite at the top of the seawall until the rain thickened and we repaired to the car to finish our duck fat fries with sriracha aioli. We arrived just as dusk was coming on; the luminous overcast of the water darkened from periwinkle to mussel-pearl. Illuminated by a ceaseless line of incoming planes, the flight path through the clouds looked like a portal for UFOs or one of those roses in a medieval revelation through which an insect cloud of angels emerges into a painting by Bosch. It glowed so steadily, we thought at first it was the moon. There were clumps of seaweed cast up into the grass of the park. The air was salt and so cold both our hands numbed. The last time we ate from this restaurant together, it must have been one of the last restaurants we ate at together, still early enough in the year four years ago that when he proposed and I accepted we did not realize it would be a cholera wedding. This time we would also have tried for donuts from the Mochinut across the parking lot, but there was nowhere to stop on the street. I have now been made aware of the debaculous existence of Evermore Park, following which spatch offered the antidote of Puy du Fou. I maintain that the part where it sure looks like the pope emerges from the lake really should be some kind of Arthuriana. I have had the same crunching headache for two days, but they have been two good days nonetheless.
