We couldn't afford to go anywhere for spring break. Businesspeople, economic conservatives, communicators, creatives, Walter and I kept flippung the lid up on the pizza box and not eating that. We'd been stuck together on date nights before but usually entertained ourselves just watching contemporaries do their thing. This time everybody had gone to Florida. By the third beer Walter settled his remote on volleyball, our-agers.
I always think of this when it's clear that the Democraps are going into all the offices and the Republ-i-cans turn themselves into tacos. Blankets, books, sofas, the middle ground high road. Not a "couch potato", more like a taco, to: Does it look like I want to sit here on my ass for the next four years?!?
Potato, taco, either way....cocooning
Waiting.
Chrysalis stage to a national reset.
Like our military friends who are the first to turn choking on tears about war into words, orders usually, Get the kids in the car; PULL, to an outstretch....there are those one step ahead in the race, seeing the plan.
Those same older brothers that will chide a dreamer, will pick up a thrown corsage or campaign pin and wrestle flung back onto lapel, back onto mantel, back into cradle. The Republic itself, family AND hearth.
In '92 we were still wearing our 1984 clothes. Walter's tummy was starting to show beneath his tee shirt. He grabbed it and pulled
himself off the sofa, held out an arm, Dis thance isthmus?
We were actually exhausted like Jim Bo Hannan and PJ Harvey on a ninth day of eating canned weinies found in one of those cotton skirt covered cinderblock hidey hole food stores.
Like a donation-goal thermometer, the communicators on our college campus had held the lines open while projects launched and stars were born. Pump Up the Volume had been more of a manifesto to our-agers, like Purple Rain our "code" could not just be scripted into computer-input.
Our slow dance squish was hard to interrupt even as the "us" around on campus started finding apartment, media, "food"....
Did you smuggle this exile?
Answer the question.
Walter and I had almost fallen asleep, still dancing, the "party" just went on around us, the short, scarry-faced man in a loose fitting jogging suit was shoving a passport-sized square of a photograph in between my face and Walter's shoulder.
Italy provided Ukraine with 8 packages of military aid in 2022 and 2023 and will intend to maintain the same level of additional military support in 2024, which shall be determined in detail through consultations between the participants and taking into account Ukraine's contingent needs.Feb 24, 2024
Several hours after the party that never happened, happened
Walter had convinced a younger classperson to take a pop-up internship to help sort out who all had come to the random dorm/apartment sanctuary "room". No one had planned to encounter the INS so birth certifucates had to be found, yaddah yaddah
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