Personal Yummy #34
It’s a warm evening in late September, around six p.m., and I pass by The Carlyle on my way home.
Standing patiently in front of the fancy façade is a woman who, I’d say, is in her mid-to-late sixties. Her hair is long, blonde, and wavy; her dress is spaghetti-strapped, ultra-glittery, form-fitting, and creamy pink; her purse is little and yellow; and her shoes are strappy, just-high-enough, and elegant.
And her eyes… What a look she has in them! It is one of excitement, expectation, and—ultimately—“I hope that he shows up…”
You know what? I think that he will.
In any case, she can’t lose. She’s made the effort, she’s taking a chance, and she looks lovely, on her way to enjoy jazz and Jon Batiste at the Café Carlyle.
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