This AM I went to the Century Ballroom for my Sunday dancing and there were many people dressed in their finest, with purple wigs and hats with stuffed baby chickens and leopard print shoes and massive eye shadow and there was a CHOIR and a preacher with a sequined jacket and all those gathered were stomping and clapping and yahooing to beat the band. And there was an aqua caddie parked out front too, with white walls.
WHAT WAS THAT? Did I dream it? Whatever brought these fine folks together but for the singing and (I fear, some alcohol) and the general merriment of Easter, day of chickens and chocolate and jelly beans and children with rabbit ears on their heads.
Then we went to the Grange store and stared at the chicken coops with the buk-buks and the bunnies and the ducks inside.
A chicken coop is in our future. With chickens.
On the way home, we passed the wee park beside the ghost building of Kurt Cobain. There are two benches and today they were loaded with flowers and notes and people sitting beside them and on the grass, mourning that fine beautiful boy.
I came home and listened to Smells Like Teen Spirit real loud.