On the Midway
// September 2nd, 2006 // No Comments » // Uncategorized
Thurston here!
Lovey and I hopped the bullet train to the big city for the lastest and longest weekend of the summer. Our mission was three fold: bask in the comfort and hospitallity of our sisters’ collective abodes, observe the natives of the Minnesota State Fair in their natural suroundings, take part in some local customs and enjoy some local fare, and paruse the inventory of a swank little shop on Snelling by the name of Up Six where Lovey picked up a couple hot new additions to her closet.
It was a day filled with adventure and we were left overwhelmed, overfed, and overwalked.
After taking in the strange and exotic sights, sounds, tastes, and smells, nothing prepared us for our final encounter of the evening…
On the long trek from the fairgrounds to my sister’s new pad we were blessed with a visit by a true saint of swank. This was a man of untold cool… a nameless gent who possessed a mellow like none we had ever seen. Ours was an encounter of prophetic proportions. He appeared out of nowhere when our paths crossed at the corner of Portland and Saratoga. He spoke a simple but profound message and, before his words had time to make their way into our wary minds, he was gone. “Don’t let ‘em bust your chill, now. I know what you’re going to say, ‘they’re gonna do it anyway,’ but don’t let ‘em do it, don’t let ‘em bust your chill.”
I’ll try, man, I’ll try. Until our paths cross again, I’ll try…
