Every now and then, when the moon is high and the kitties are full, the cry goes up for Bloody Marys. Bloody Marys! Both tasty and delicious. What’s a girl to do but say “Yes, please”?
The usual Bloody Crew – Amy, Erin, and I – went to the Spring Street, where the Bloodys are spicy, the décor changes with whatever artist is displaying that week, and the waitresses appear as often as they should, taking empties away and bringing new ones*.
The topic of conversation moved rapidly from our new “Obama ‘08” pins to Sarah Palin’s ovaries surely qualifying her as McCain’s running mate to the economy to the number of houses that Erin had looked at recently in her pursuit of an affordable one to ghosts. A stream of consciousness conversation if there ever was one.
It’s that time of year in Minnesota. It’s darker when the alarm goes off, darker earlier at night. The temperature has dropped a good twenty degrees in the past couple of days. I’m still in the backyard, but for the first time in almost four months, I’m wearing socks. Laugh if you will, but it’s a short trip from having to wear socks to having to wear a hat, and from there? Chaos, my friends. Frosty, finger-freezing chaos.
It is only right, then, that our thoughts have become slightly darker, slightly cooler; and that ghost stories come more readily. The closer we come to days when there is more dark than light the closer we come to acknowledging that there may be more to what is possible than what we see.
Minneapolis and St. Paul: Zombie Pub Crawls, the Republican National Convention, anarchists, ghosts, and the coming of winter.
* Really, you can only drink a couple Bloodys before you need to switch to beer.