Valentine’s Day

Dinner together at home; then, very sharply dressed in black and white relieved only by the ruby richness of Miss C’s necklace, we returned to The City. In the House of Poets, we heard a song for a madman played on a very strange guitar by a wiry old fellow with warm eyes, wild hair and fingers that moved in a blur upon the frets. His accompanist, on the piano, was a little younger but totally bald, with strange and piercing eyes. Then, we danced in subtle rhythms to an exotic beat. Fun.