Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question…
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?â€
Let us go and make our visit.
—“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” – T.S. Eliot
What a weekend. Sarah’s party – drinking and divine dips – the new house – birthday cakes and drinks from Rubbermaid tubs. Sleeping – or not sleeping – on the couch and talking all night of books and music and just about everything else. A burn on my wrist to remind me. “Let us go and make our visit.”