It was 85 and humid in Minneapolis yesterday.
Outside sipping wine with a friend — back up against a stranger and right shoulder inches from the passing cars and buses — I was delighted to feel what I have not felt for so many, many —
Many months —
The irregularity and unpredictability of the contents on the corner of Irving and Lake.
The murmurs and blurts.
Sirens and skirts.
Bare legs and boots.
Tattoos and bikes.
Glasses clinking. Doors and blouses opening.
Ideas spilling over. The unjamming of thoughts and feelings.