To tell you the truth, I'm out of resolutions this year.
Except some, not fit for print.
But I do remember one New Year Eve in New York City, back in 1990.
I was invited to a party at a lady's fancy house.
A roof apartment in the SOHO neighborhood.
The living room was lighted with candles.
People sipped wine, talked, each one presenting her or his kind resolution.
We were invited to the roof, or rather slowly people started drifting to it, passing through a little bedroom full with toys.
"My granddaughter's room," said the hostess, proudly.
The night was bright. The roof was rich with plants, actually the same plant everywhere.
People were sampling the leaves, giggling. The air filled soon with this sweetish smell I abhor.
"What plants are these?" asked Corinna.
"Joint! Grass!" said the hostess. "Want some?"
Politely I thanked the resolute grandmother, and went home to my Muse.
Musing.
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lurching is sexy