The Sunday After
From the looks of it, last Sunday was always going to be a slow one.
The night before was pretty wild. I said I might follow up on that, and I’m sure some of you showed up here expecting exactly that. I considered it. The old saying “a lady never tells” crossed my mind, which would have been fitting had I behaved like one. I did not.
Then again, some things are better done than said. You’ll have to make do with a single picture and whatever your imagination decides to do with it.
But honestly, you perverts, I was talking about Sunday.
And I didn’t mind the slower pace at all. Sometimes things go hard, sometimes they need to move slow. Kind of like this weekend.
So when I ended up at Bardeco, I found exactly the vibe I expected. Bardeco has its own rhythm. It’s a large place and it’s never really empty. Plenty of us show up every week. But Sundays are different. Maybe I’m not the only one spending the evening reconsidering yet another weekend of bad decisions and excellent ideas.
The room always feels calm. Not empty. Just calm. I don’t know what’s hiding behind all those private messages, whispered conversations, and knowing smiles, but for me Bardeco has become a place to get myself back in check before a new week begins.
I was happy to see a number of familiar faces and a few I didn’t recognize. Or maybe I should have and simply forgot. You know how it goes: Alcohol, lines of white, strangely colored pills. We might have met. We might have talked. We might have done more than talk. I honestly couldn’t tell you. I hope you were good. I know I was.
Anyway, Sunday was what I needed. I had myself. We had each other. There was a camera. Now there are shared memories.
And one extra picture.
Because I know what you’re here for.
Click them for a larger resolution and save.
This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
Join the awesomeness. Leave an epic reply.
