I made a bet. I thought a certain hill led to a certain locale. My companion didn't think so. She knew better. She bet me a dollar. I took her up on it. And lost.
As I was stewing about my dollar, we viewed beautiful, yet creepy houses along the side streets of Uptown. She gave me a candybar.
Before this, we walked around the Lake of the Isles. We talked about what our pet peeves were. I remember her saying "inside furniture when it's outside". I also remember her talking about the Minneapolis skyline. Looking at it from one of the bridges along the lake, she said, "Do you know what the best night to view a city skyline is?" I said, "No, what?" She said "Tuesday night, because that's when most people work late and stay in their offices."
I remember thinking "This is a long walk, but I don't want it to end after the lake." She picked up on that. Then she took my dollar.
We talked 1900's drug stores, tried to save a drunken man who was apparently locked in a glass cage and had passed out on his back (the bus terminal on Hennepin), saw a cop in his squad car browsing Facebook on the car computer outside of the Walker, etc. It was a damn fine walk. A walk that had no hidden underbelly of romance or anything. Just a nice friendly get-together, a friend I had had yet to have the pleasure of meeting one on one so far. A nice way to break the isolation and cave dwelling within my abode, toiling on dark eroticism and audience acceptance. Hard on the brain, that is.
A damn fine walk, indeed. Now . . . how to get the dollar back . . .
Woody Guthrie -- "Pastures of Plenty"
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