buzzy

The only way to top Drinksgiving with friends is to come home and drunkwalk yr. favorite dog (mine is Chaucer) through quiet city streets, softly singing songs he doesn't understand though seems to like anyway.

The neighborhood is empty but strangely cheerful. Christmas lights strung on trees. A tiny, temporary ice skating rink. Everything peaceful and still. No security guard at the library tonight because of the holiday, so Chauc gets unclipped and can roam free, sniffing to his heart's content. Two slinky black shapes scatter but not before he sees them. He gives half-hearted chase for a few steps before remembering that it's pointless. Dogs can't catch cats.

Meanwhile I hang back, wrapped up in the warmth of the evening, buzzy with wine and reflecting on the mysterious cement that is friendship. I'm stuffed with food and laughter and a bit melancholy at the thought that all good things must come to an end.

But nothing good ended tonight.

If I was truly committed I would have stood on the table to get a better shot, I know. But had I done that, my friends would have had me actually committed, so.