The elusive pulchritude
I was walking the streets of Boston and was impressed by how many beautiful men Boston seems to always have. What prompted this was a man crossing the street, with gorgeous eyes and a chiseled face and how he looked right into my eyes. I mentioned this to this person next to me and he said, “What’d you care?”
Later, I was speaking to a colleague about the bar in Nine Zero where I stayed. He said, Lindsay Lohan had been there the week before. And I said flippantly who cares about Lindsay Lohan. He said well you have a lot in common, “Red hair, smoking body and a hot girlfriend.” Cute, I said.
Walking up to the Jet Blue terminal at JFK to get on the plane home, I instantly knew I was in the right place as the crowd waiting were all misfits. I asked one guy if they had called my seat yet and he had three teeth in his mouth and could barely respond. Near the door, I counted at least three women who badly needed their hair washed and styled. And then a woman directly in front of me kept losing her pants not to mention she had on humongous underwear.
When we landed in New Orleans, there was once again that smell of overly ripe that seems to appear only minutes before we land at Louis Armstrong International Airport. And as I walked through the terminal on the way to my car, I noticed distinctly that all the people on my plane seemed to pair up well with all the people waiting around in the lobby.
Misfits one and all. Then I drove down the I-10 with trash tumbling in the wind and turned off of City Park Avenue onto Moss Street and saw the bayou and a gaggle of geese were waddling across and I had to stop to let them. Home, I thought, there’s no place like home.