Sunday, April 16, 2017

Holy Saturday

As soon as we climb in the car, our host for brunch today, who's been kind enough to come pick us up at the train station, hands us cocktails. "Roadies!" he announces happily, driving the wrong way out of the parking lot without incident.

The cocktails taste like Creamsicles to me (they turn out to be peach vodka, orange juice, triple sec, and a lime wedge): sweet, with a little bit of a grainy texture from all the sugar, but when I mention this to Katie, she shrugs.

"Tastes like college to me," she says.
One year ago: None of Your Business
Two years ago: Fooling Yourself (Angry Young Man)
Three years ago: Brush My Hair
Four years ago: Home is Where You Don't Need to See

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