My wife surprised me with a caipirinha tonight. For those of you not in the know, a caipirinha (pronounced kai-per-een-ya) is a powerful brazilian cocktail made up of muddled (squished) limes, sugar, and cachaca (pronounced "KA-sha-sa"), Brazilian cane sugar liquor). It is so choice. It is very, very nice. It is teh strong. Muito forte, as the Mrs. says. I am reeling after one, but then again, one caipirinha is served in a pint glass. Honestly, it's good. I'm a scotch snob, and I say that scotch isn't even capable of holding a good caipirinha's bag.
Anyhow, the alcohol is taking the sting off of my need to pack a bag for my journey starting about 30 minutes into Wednesday, whereupon I travel back to the urban desert of Philadelphia, an entire city which, to be fair, looks like God took a shit on a parking garage.
But I digress, or perhaps regress. I'm heading back to work, and I'm bummed. I'm excited to earn a paycheck, of course, but beyond that, I'm again leaving all I hold dear.
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