On last night’s Ally Mcbeal, Ally said, at the beginning of the episode, “I don’t much feel like going to work today” and so she didn’t. She was not in the rest of the episode.
This morning, on my way to work, I saw the sun rise. Oh, I thought, I wish I had missed this.
In your life there are a few places, or maybe only the one place, where something happened, and then there are all the other places.
—Alice Munro, “Too Much Happiness”
Something strange was happening to him. His neck, round which soft, fragrant arms had so lately been clasped, seemed to him to be anointed with oil; on his left cheek near his moustache where the unknown had kissed him there was a faint chilly tingling sensation as from peppermint drops, and the more he rubbed the place the more distinct was the chilly sensation . He wanted to dance, to talk, to run into the garden, to laugh aloud. He quite forgot that he was round-shouldered and uninteresting, that he had lynx-like whiskers and an “undistinguished appearance.
Last night I color-coordinated the clothes in my closet. It made me feel rich to have a closet that looked this way, until I stood back, looked at the small, crowded closet and remembered the labels.
I do not want people to be agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.
The wedding chapel outside my bus stop is now playing Josh Groban’s Noel album on a loop. Who, I ask, wants to be married to that?
There is not a Blockbuster in Los Angeles that carries Ally Mcbeal.
My bus stop (the 2 or the 4, or the 302 if I’m lucky, which is rare) is right outside the Guadalupe Wedding Chapel in downtown Los Angeles.
As I wait for the bus every day the chapel plays Etta James’ “At Last” on a loop on their outdoor speaker system.