Given I can’t afford to live in a Manhattan penthouse, I really hate the east coast – all of it – from Boston to Key West – likely for the same reason I’d hate Singapore or Hong Kong – fucking humidity.
Spring is over, and after three days of coming damp rain, the brutality of summer is upon us. Damn do I miss California.
Given I am on a budget, my local hangout, the Rudy Duck, is for Sunday Brunch only. To deal with this crappy weather, I headed to a little strip mall sports bar, the Gridiron Grill. I had a cup of chili, a turkey Ruben, and a tall Shock Top.
A local kid with a really good voice was singing James Taylor type stuff. At the table next to me sat a bunch of coaches that clearly lived for sports (thank god the music made their discussion mute). A dozen TV screens of sports crap played away, with me oblivious but enjoying the moment.
After I got home, walking in the rain was not so bad. But really a cloudless night viewing a billion stars over Lake Tahoe is what I need.
