I got caught in a rainstorm coming back from noon Mass today. The gales tossed heavy blankets of water all down Baronne Street, and I ran from the shadow of eave to eave, happy to be free from thoughts of death row, or bedbugs, or anything that's made this first month such a struggle. Just rain
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and your banker's lamp makes me absolutely homesick for my childhood piano, on top of which stood a framed print of renoir's boating party, a tambourine, my flute in its case, and one of those lamps. (to be fair, the fact that my adulthood piano is almost identical to my childhood piano softens that blow a bit--the flute, though, remains a source of pangs.)
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I love banker's lamps too; a lawyer on staff gave it to me as a welcome to the job present. No telling if she hands me a flute next.
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