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?”
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.”

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