Northampton Journal
There’s a trace of last night’s perfume when I lift my coffee cup to my lips, but my hair seems to have shed the cigarette smoke blown in my face by a woman it turned out none of us knew.
I woke up too late for this morning’s Hot Chocolate Run but not too late to make an omelet for breakfast (is it ever too late for omelets?)
All along Main Street, the lights have been stung through the trees, and depending on the hour of the day and police activity the downtown blocks recall either Bedford Falls or Pottersville (which, as Gary Kamiya points out, rocks). The first snow of the year is ticking softly on my air conditioner.
Yesterday, returning at dusk from running, I passed a pair of Smithies sharing headphones, arm in arm, belting at the tops of their lungs:
Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world
I think they were glad of an audience, and I was glad to be one.
(sign in front of the Smith campus center)
