off the leash
The sun is out and the weather is warmer, baring shoulders and legs, or so the illusion of deep warmth in the light gives us after a rainy cool spring.
I made ketchup from scratch, and it was easier than expected. Reading Tom Wolfe and disliking him immensely, despite the easy manner in which his prose spins before my eyes.
The straining smiles of the eager and amused, the twinkling lady in her silver dress and manicured hair, her hands curled bonily at the table, somehow brings out the harsh edge of the glassware.
My YSL scarf is tied correctly around my neck and my fringe is cut low.
The dogs are running in the park, running happily, for the few moments they are off their leash.
