Curatives
Thursday, March 27, 2008
I'm not going to bore you with the facts, but I've been beaten down by panic these past several week—that ridiculous tsunami of adrenaline surges and a badly behaving heart, nights spent praying for an hour of sleep on a downstairs couch. It is what it is. This, too, shall pass, and is a minor inconvenience in the worldly scheme of things.
I speak of it only to celebrate its antidote, which is laughter and the friends who step in to induce it. I speak of it to celebrate, in this one instant of many instances, a particular Jan Suzanne, who walked the city streets with me last evening. Jan Suzanne, glamorous through and through, a little Madison Avenue in my own beloved Philly, more than a little adorable with her queenly absurd absorbing stories, more than willing to take a bolero strut as we turned up Market, nothing but our shadows behind us. Nothing but the night, always young, when she is in it.
