Sunday evening, Mari’s birthday party.
I wait for the bus, eyeing the weekly flea market in the dry cleaner’s parking lot (still open after dark). I buy a stack of party hats.
“Do you know where you got these?” I ask.
“No. I don’t,” the seller admits. “I’m sure they’re clean though.”
My bus never comes. I point at a taxi and it stops. The driver takes me to Larry’s Market on Queen Anne. I pay him and walk out onto the sidewalk. I still have a dollar change from the taxi transaction in my hand as I pass a woman selling Real Change, the homeless newspaper. I give the dollar to her, fold the Real Change up, and stick it in my pocket.
Inside I look over the beer selection. I read one of the unfamiliar labels to myself, “Gordon Biersch Märzen. I’m surprised – I know the beer but I don’t know the logo. I didn’t know that it came in bottles. So I get a six-pack.
I walk to Mari and Jon’s place. Jon offers to make me a piña colada, and I hesitate. “I’ll have a beer.” I’m disappointed in myself for breaking my streak of going with whatever comes along.
The party is small. Mari’s sister is there for awhile with her baby, some trusted people take turns holding him.
This is a theme party – it was strongly recommended that guests should wear a wig, or at least a disguise. (I’m wearing my Linus shirt, but no one notices.) There are four wigs in play. All of them belong to Mari. Later, the number of wigs will increase by two. I’m afraid to say that they all look good on me. Another guest looks like Andy Warhol no matter which wig he wears.
There are three Englishmen present – that’s just how it happened. Later, a girl from Ireland too.
Rebecca is there. I’ve only talked to her once before, that was in Paris.
S jokes that, “I drove 4,000 miles to get here.” It’s a long story
Mark’s boyfriend looks a lot like Mark.
What Jon would do:
Build a wooden yacht and sail it around the world.
Get a commercial pilot’s license.
Get a degree in some esoteric subject.
Jon drove from Wisconsin to Washington on his honeymoon. On the strength of a steak dinner, he has decided that Nebraska is the best state.
These are good people! Ok.