cin cin

It's so late at night and I wanted to post before midnight, and to do that means to do no justice to the wonderful people and wines from tonight's tasting. It means I can't do justice to the woman at the bus stop downtown at my transfer, whose bus wasn't running that late on a Sunday night, who let me look up an alternate route for her on my phone but then raged when I told her that route required her to walk eleven minutes to her destination, who flailed and lay down in the street amid slush and lumps of snow, a woman whose death I thought I might witness. I can't do justice to how it felt when two bus drivers slammed doors in her face and told her to take that bus that doesn't run so late on a Sunday, one of whom did it smugly and the other did it almost gleefully. It means that I'm home and I'm hoping for sleep, flipping through my photos from the night and looking deeply into the eyes on this bottle, thinking it's good enough with its drip-stain and wool cap to be an anchor photo for a post like this.