Saturday, February 26 2000
In the late morning Kim and I walked with Sophie down to the little commercial strip on Sunset Cliffs Blvd. just south of Niagara. We had plans to do brunch at Rancho's, the healthy Mexican restaurant, but the place was so crowded we ended up at the Pepe's, the Italian joint two doors north. That's the same place where we once had our meal tainted with the fragrance of ammonia, but since we were eating outside this wasn't a possible problem. The woman who runs the place, a bubbly middle-aged party girl from New York City, saw to it that we had everything we needed and that in her hungover state Kim didn't order too much food. The beverage of choice for the morning was Dr. Pepper of all things.
After we were done eating, our progress home was impeded by Kim's inexplicable need to venture into every store we passed on the way to Niagara. She needed a bag of coffee, a piece of cake, and then a Thai beverage.
In the evening while Kim was at work, I found myself experiencing the strange emotionally flattening psychological effects of late hangover. Everything I was doing suddenly seemed pointless, but the revelation wasn't even depressing, it was just a matter of fact, as if I would be so much better off watching the Simpsons than working on, say, "When Glory Holes Attack."
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