River 5 mi in the morning. Very pleasant morning, but it will be hot. I'm off the wagon and struggling with my routine, but seem to be keeping off what I've already lost. So while 152 is probably a lost cause by July 4, I have an outside shot at 155 or so. Hege has bought me a Stick, which will be nice on my ITB; it's sore. Now walking back from a late dinner at Muqueca. The air has cooled, it feels just below skin temperature, with soft puffs of breeze that wash across the face like ripples at slack tide. The sun set gigantic and iridescent as we strolled around Inman Square in search of a restaurant with outdoor tables. No luck, but a sweet evening ramble. Now the moon has risen, the same size as the sun (that optical illusion which makes eclipses). Gal asked me to write this. She said, "People read your blog, and they're expecting it," which isn't true; it means that she does. And that's enough for me. I feel a wave of love and affection. I want to taste with her the sweetness of the June air; the awkwardness of young women in short summer dresses that don't quite fit, walking together in threes; the forlorn headphones in someone's ear as he sits alone outside the falafel restaurant; the croak of a weatherbeaten couple on a bench in Central Square discussing their social security checks; the epicycles of the orange cat's tail, back and forth, back and forth in front of the gate at 117 Pleasant. I walk in the door and am home except for the Gal-shaped depression that's missing from the bed. She ought to be here, her absence feels like an error in an astronomical calculation. I can feel her gravitational pull all over this evening, and, as I drift off to sleep, there she is, it's only the luminescence that's missing, like a new moon that will be full again two weeks from now.
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