The evening started a little like it was 2006, me heading from downtown toward the ocean, mostly uphill and entirely into the wind, arriving at USF for some afternoon soccer practice before heading back down the hill for quick calorie replacements, pasta, butter, Parmesan and black pepper. Followed by Trader Joe's chocolate, the best deal in the city.
But it didn't end like 2006, not just because I classed it up by putting the pasta in a plate, but because Baleen called me from Boston. Baxter's moving, she said. It feels like a tickle. I think Baxter wants Baleen to know that there's still a man with her, even though I'm 3,000 miles away. Sunday night I'll get to see if Baxter rests upon his return to San Francisco or if he'll move for me, too.
But it didn't end like 2006, not just because I classed it up by putting the pasta in a plate, but because Baleen called me from Boston. Baxter's moving, she said. It feels like a tickle. I think Baxter wants Baleen to know that there's still a man with her, even though I'm 3,000 miles away. Sunday night I'll get to see if Baxter rests upon his return to San Francisco or if he'll move for me, too.
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