We had a table of six tonight, a birthday dinner with two bottles of Opus One, a Maccallan 30 year Single Malt (at $60 a pour), and our extroardinary cuisine. Damn nice people, with the purest joy and richest laughter I have heard in ages.
They’re check came to just under $1900.00, with a $400 tip. They had an absolutely beautiful evening, getting the best of everything, the mens round guts and the way they treated their lovely wine – like the perfect conneseiurs’, even commenting on the differences of a vintage year here and there, easily gave away the fact that this is not an uncommon occurence.
Aaaahhhhhh, the rich and wealthy life. All you could want at the drop of a dollar bill or a thousand, but –
the last time I heard laughter like that – actually, laughter that far excelled it, was walking down the street, from some construction laborer, dressed in work worn and dirty clothes, that probably just heard a good joke. That laughter was deep, boomed, and shook windows and souls with its’ beauty. It was laughter that, in simply hearing it, warmed you like no Single Malt ever could, stopped anglels mid-song to bathe in its’ luxury, and let you know, truly, that as long as you live the life you love, nothing else matters. As long as you are true to yourself, as long as you never forget your dreams, and instead, chase them, and catch them.
It all comes from the inside. Money, though useful in many ways, has nothing to do with pure joie de vivre.
On an entirely different topic, now, the question – should I wander all the way to Jim’s house, hoping the shindig is still going on? Did Cole by any chance happen to put the Famous Blue Furrycoat downstairs, and is Max sleeping there? Should I even check?
A walk is necessary, I will go somewhere. Jim’splace isn’t necessarily close, and it’s cold as fuck outside, and 1:30am.
Oh, the internal delimma.