Off to Philadelphia

Off to Philadelphia. To celebrate birthdays and law exam debauchery. Wine and friends and family. The good stuff.

I seek absinthe when I spend time in this old American city. I suppose Baltimore is a more appropriate place, if your cravings are inspired by literature. But what the hell. I am much too un-stoned for Baltimore these days. It makes me fall too sullen, most of the time.

And this brings me back to Prague. Prague was the best-worst-first-oh-god-lord-women-dancing-topless-in-hazy-windows-Eastern-European-former-Soviet-bloc experience I had with "la fée verte". I have to say, I had no idea what I was doing. But the wormwood sure did.

U Staré Paní — the burgundy basement brimming with bright jazz — wood, fabric, refracting. Candle light, bright red everywhere, it got into your head, man.

We Americans ordered beer and absinthe. We were sat at a table they carried down front. Copacabana style. A simple juice glass, very full accompanied by a box of matches, slotted spoon, sugar, and water was put within my reach. And quickly, it was late. Every faculty I had, mental or physical, was challenged after we had cashed-out/in from the Jazz haunt. Limbs and ramblings exposed for their varying degrees of disenfranchisement from my intentions.

Feet-don't-fail-me-now-TNT-spring-loaded-slippery-snow-strewn-street-watch-out-for-that-curb-cobblestone-disaster-no-I-am-fine-I-know-where-the-hotel-is-let's-have-one-more-drink.

I had no idea the night I was in for when I began. Oh, and the next day awash in a gray soot.

Prague. Philadelphia. I take it differently, now. Much slower. With intent. With a proper pour, some burned sugar cubes, and a touch of water. You can find a way to measure anything these days.

And. As family is involved, I think the absinthe will stay capped these next few days. Wine, that's what it must be. You know, for the good of the company we keep.