By the unyielding force of fate or Dave's good graces, I was whisked away, sleeveless t-shirt and all, into his car and to a bar that always looks much more colorful from the sidewalk outside than it does standing within its smoky confines. It offered good company and good drinks—and by "good," I mean mixed drinks that aren't really mixed with anything besides ice—and we had our fill of both, perhaps more than our fill.

Mike was in Snowmass. By the time he returned on Friday, I was virtually recovered from Wednesday night's escapade. We went to dinner and sat at the bar, eating food that would last us throughout the weekend and ultimately be finished on Monday afternoon before I returned home. His pockets were full of toys, his eyes with stories for me. His presence was inconspicuous but held a quiet that I took comfort in and he later apologized for being boring. Nothing could be further from the truth. I told him that a great majority of life is boring. Perhaps the trick is to find someone you enjoy spending the daily in's and out's with.

I slid home easily, uneventfully, the weekend fully furnished and the upcoming week laying itself out in front of me like the blueprint for an important building. I penciled in the details, the company, the food and drinks, schoolwork, and the boring in's and out's. Thinking of routine in the context of cool summer nights or attractive company makes it a bit more appealing. «

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