the memories of our betters keep us on our feet

After Val and I had finished our (kick-ass, crazy-good) mani-pedi-neck massages at Harmony on Glendale Blvd., we walked next door, giggling a little bit along the way because Chole Sevigny had come in and was so odd and wearing a Betsey Johnsom slip dress I owned like eleven years ago, we walk next door to Silver Lake Wine Co. to pick up some vino and there is George, whom I have not seen in a million, gazillion years because for whatever reason he is never there when I go and I say, Hey there, Goergie and he has this lazy grin on his face and says, Wow, look at you: the toes (I was still wearing the salon's freebie flip-flops to protect my wet toenails) he says, Look at you: the toes, the tan, the whole package.