Intoleration

colored waiting roon

I was stationed in Washington DC in the 80’s, and one of the things I really loved there was the nightlife.

For a kid of 18 – just released from small town America – I had wandered into a wonderland.

The bars there were amazing – even the dive joints. If I remember correctly the girl to guy ratio in DC back then was something like seven women to every man. Which I guess is why even the crummy places were great.

The music scene in those days was incredible (which I’m sure it still is, but you always judge the stuff from your youth to be better than the stuff from anyone else’s youth). Continue reading →

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The Color of my Memories

Gold is the color of my memories

They’re in soft focus, tinged in orange

And they smell of sage and honeysuckle

I go there a lot, more than I should

But I’m comfortable there, because I know what happens

There are no trick endings, plot twists or uncertainties

I know how everything turns out

But not everything turns out

Some of my memories aren’t finished yet

Maybe I can still make those ones turn out

Make them turn out gold, with a tinge of orange, smelling of sage and honeysuckle