What a strange and wonderful evening. I left the house just at 6. Wind in the trees, leaves in the air, mystical hour sunlight coming across vertically under a dramatic sky. The Rockies to the South, monsoon to the north. Leaves and sidewalk trash swirled and teased the concrete before me; for a moment I imagine I was in Satantango, moving with a long gait (my natural step, a great galumphing thing) as a furious wind roars ahead of me (and this goes on and on for what, five ten twenty minutes; hell the movie’s nine hours long so it was probably half an hour and all completely mesmerizing). A couple of drops splattered me. On Court, I walked by one of those redheads with freckles all over her face; I almost stopped dead in my tracks for the beauty of her. It felt like autumn, everything said, and smelled fall.
I was looking for some mozzarella. Down Court. Had a hankering for baked pasta, topped with the mozz, bubbling and tanning under the flame. So damn satisfying, baked pasta. Not quite fall in the apartment, but to hell with that. I made it, opened a bottle of red; the Moor’s tears, if I’m not mistaken. If not his last sigh…
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