Monday, September 24, 2007

If my superpower is willing myself to be happy, then rain must be my kryptonite

Cappuccino in hand, I stared through the window of Craftsteak, a fancy-ish Soho restaurant that I figured was either run by Tom Colicchio, or by a trademark infringer with enough savvy about international fine dining to make it seem like his restaurant was run by Tom Colicchio (it turned out to be the latter). The sound of the driving tropical rain filled in the rhythm section for the blues music lilting from the house speakers. I drew my cup to my lips and took a long, slow sip of the chalky, flavorless drink.

"I wish I had a cigarette," I mumbled to no one in particular. "I don't even like to smoke."

"It's because of the rain," Marie observed, tracing her fingers through the patch of steam on the window to find that it was on the outside.

"Mmm," I grunted impassively. "I also wish this cappuccino was any good."

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