yaaawwwwwnnn, scratch, scratch

well, well. the shuttlecocks are flying again. i've moved on to richer pastures and now spend my awfternooons gazing at the lovely gals in country life magazines. lovely well-skinned ladiez studying theology and art history all waiting for me to sweep them off their feet with stories of slicing backhands and grand slams and dames.
i'm back in the tawdry imperial capital like a squire on an ass. frothy frocked gals delight, yet an emptiness settles in like a big portion of mashed potatoes from a martini glass. should i stay or should i go... can i afford to stay or afford to go... is there a place to fondle ideas? or is it here? madame george says i'm a nitwit to keep running off (or away, rather), but seems to think that it might be the right thing to do. i think i will stay, but perhaps that is simply the weight of the humid diamond-shaped swamp that is below me. but then there is nevsky prospect... perhaps the humidity could hold me there too. but it seems broken hearts peer from every corner, and might they all be mine?
kabul does not call. it doens't pick up the phone. it's happier without my likes. but ohhhh i did like to get drunk there. early saturday afternoons with boxed-red wine hostessing jail breaks and hungover days, afternoons and nights with the one and only lady jane. lady jane. lady jane!!!! like a popsicle first thing in the morning. pop.
ha. assinine nostalgia. fuckereerereererssssss!!!!! ha. i'm out like trout. up stream like clotted cream. busting out at the seams.
it's hot and humid and swampy and sweaty and shiny and down right dirty in dc. so come visit me.
i have 24 more country lifes to go through before i can decide which one will be my future wife. so many lovely choices in life