i've met maly a few times before.� she's wearing --of all things-- a pinstriped suit and a feather boa.� she is generous, and invites me to a party she's throwing in a few weeks.� there aren't many people at the edinburgh on this particular evening, but they're all dressed really well.� hardly anyone dances, though.� she tries to get me to dance.� to no avail.

after nearly everyone leaves, sarah and i dance around for a while.� i'd asked sarah earlier to hold onto my glass for a while.� when it was returned to me, its contents had diminished and its rim had lipstick all over it.� perhaps for the best.� we go for a drive and she sounds as if she'll throw a tantrum if she doesn't get to hear teenage fanclub for the fifty millionth time.� fortunately bandwagonesque (taped over a prerecorded john wesley harding cassette "because he's just not that good") is a mutual favorite of ours.� we spend the rest of the night sitting on maly's floor, talking and listening to saint etienne.

i have a vague hope.� for something profound to happen.� for a revelation to come to me.� for meaning to just emerge out of ether.� for more than waiting for the next party.� this night has not opened my eyes.� it isn't so bad, anyway.