before you know it....
I read The Great Gatsby for the first time a week ago. Precision - that's the word to describe the entire work. Jazzy, New York comes alive in Technicolor writing that reads so accurate one can almost measure it. You forget to read on and be led into the dream world of Gatsby coz the arresting structure and form are more enchanting.
Gatsby was finally revealed after so many years of waiting. It came with its prize-winning reputation and lived quite amicably with it. Ash grays mingled with pompous partying reminded me of the pubbing and hole-hopping we did a few years ago, when priorities lay in entertaining friends every weekend and then jaunting off for a nite cap far enough into the night. Long drives under starlit skies and the chirping of horns drove our decadent lot reveling in a (silly) sense of achievement in eating out at the 'next best' restaurant profiled for that week.
Life's changed so much now. Age, yes. Enslaving and debilitating work that cocoons you and tosses you around in that tiny space like a boomerang. The passion of loving what you do keeps you going. Is this the beginning of middle age?