Peter and Margot.

A man walks into the room with a haircut. Nice haircut. Thanks. The light is low and round, hanging from a silk scarfed pendant. The light blinks through the horses in the print. The dancing makes her think of a certain unborn child, busy and content just growing in there; all tucked in. The man brings her back as he moves in beside her. Hello. Hello. I like what you did with the lamp. The soft light on the haircut. I like what you did with the hair. Thanks. Me too. Good.

We're back.

It feels good to be at home today. Tucked in. Tucked in. Tucked in. There is something about this colorful weather (a new type that is easier to describe by color and feel than anything else) that pleases me. It feels nice to be in that smooth shift again, I am swiveling back into an old self, a comfortable and relaxed version of myself. It feels like putting on a great coat. There is nothing better than a great coat, no matter what the style.

I had an old yellow slicker on my hands last year in the early fall after the first season of planting. I think it was Zach's, I am not sure, but now it is gone. I had been living at Mel and Zach's beautiful home with the red kitchen at the time and for some reason, I wore that yellow rubber coat with the yellow corduroy cuffs and collar perfect for cold snot wiping everyday. It felt so good to put on, the rubber lying on top of layers and layers of soft wool. Oh yeah, I really like the cold (even though I complain and winge) deep down.

Fall is an exciting time for fashion.

New paragraph. That statement stands alone. My wardrobe is droopy. I seem to have jumped off a ship and lost a tonne of my baggage because my closet is sliiiiiiiim pickin's. Cheers to losing baggage. Wash your hands of it. (I am learning this as if new everyday). Anyway, I like wearing strong things, I trust myself, if anything else, and I trust myself in those clothes. I have this one jacket. Long and loose with the tightest woven thread that make up this wild floral pattern against the prettiest blue backdrop. It really is a gorgeous coat (too cold to wear it now), and I always feel great in that jacket. It also took two attempts to purchase. I initially saw it as a set at Ragpickers somewhere in the Housecoat section (housecoats make the best jackets and the selection is always amazing). It called me.

Coat and dress. Sixties. 41 dollars. Okay, the matching dress was totally insane and I knew how it would hang on my girls. I didn't need the dress. I needed the jacket. So I took it off it's partner and brought it to the front. I was stoned and charming and asked if I could buy it as a separate. She was a young turd with a bubblegum mouth and said no. Shoot that mouth right off. Okay. I stormed home across the street from Ragpickers when I had the privilege to live in the Exchange for a cool minute and so on. A few weeks later, I went back and a different woman was working. I like her, whoever she is. I usually hit up Ragpickers when I am feeling droopy--hats and the little gloves--and she is usually the one to ring me up. The last thing I bought from her (I imagine her name is Jenn, double N Jenn, she has a look) was the headpiece I will wear on my wedding day. Anyway, I brought the coat over and asked again and she not only said of course, she also let me name my price. Which was genius. That coat was worth three hundred dollars to me. I paid twenty because that is all I had in my wallet. No tax, fuck yah. She is cool. That is what cool is. She even made me wear it home.

Alright, my parents are flying towards me right now. I am going to run to catch the metro at Place Des Art so I can meet them. Shoot. Gotta run. Fast!

Mergs.

Post script in italics for feeling. Dear Rags, after reading one letter from you and writing back, I walked home through the rain thinking of you in the grey room. Grey day. Then I unlocked my mailbox and there was another letter with a stencil of my address (stencils are the best). Holy cow, what a great day. Merci one million.