With bronchitis happily settled deep within my lungs, it’s hard to move, hard to speak and sometimes hard to think. Rather than wallow in my agony and secretions, I’ve chosen to delight in the fact I have a compassionate boss who banished me from my place of employment today so I could work from the comfort of my new fake Westin Heavenly Bed. (I choose to believe it’s compassion and not outright fear that I might first infect the rest of the staff and then hospitalize his entire family.)
Between frequent naps and stuffing the cells of my brain not destroyed by apoplectic coughing fits full of upcoming work-related projects, there’s just enough time to post a few more vacation photos before they go stale.
I spent some time with Al and Mike at McGillin’s Old Ale House during Mike’s 40th, and we met here again this time around. Established in 1860, it fit right in with the history jones I was on during this trip.
I was disappointed to find no ghosts (or skeletal baby hands) in the street-side cellar hole of McGillin’s.
Kat arrives in the McGillin’s alley via cab.
Inside McGillin’s. Someone enjoyed a beverage while looking out this very window, no more than 34 years after Adams and Jefferson died.
One beverage for Kat.
Two beverages for Maudie.
One of the many seagulls in Atlantic City who wanted my cracker.
Around 1am, after I lost a crap-load of chips in AC and Kat and Maudie crashed, I went out to the beach to say goodbye to a different kind of ghost. Way fewer than 34 years ago, with my college friends and the man who would be my first husband, I enjoyed many beverages and sunsets from the windows of the Black Forest, once located in the Steel Pier (seen in the distance).
And this is the direction where all those suns, and that part of my life set. I stood on the beach alone in the dark for a long time, watching the moon and wondering about some things. Why is it that relationships forged in my twenties seem so poignant and romantic to me now? Why did I discard them in the manner I did? And holy fuck, what is that guy doing walking around out here? Is there time to run to the boardwalk steps or should I just scream right now? Run or scream? WHICH CHOICE WILL ALLOW ME TO LIVE?
{ 1 comment }
Sorry you’re sick. Broncho is the worst. That’s a really cool shot of the bird. A lot of them are cool actually.
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