So Sunday winds down as it often does, and I find myself walking with Brad and Dad into the North End of Beantown. The walk takes a bit of time, crosses the big dig, and covers the Jaime Gorelick FISA memo in the process. Nevertheless, we end up after much consternation at a delightful Italian restaurant which suits our needs perfectly.

I return from the washroom to find Adriana seated next to Brad. My firt impression, which should be taken with a grain of salt, is that she is very attractive. Remove grain of salt now. Over the next couple of hours, as we move from a discussion of Adriana's jet-setting past to the utility of ultrasound equipment in detecting blood clots, from the vagaries of Italian drivers to the often understated desire of y.t. to hang with people capable of going the distance, everythign seems perfect. The appetizers were almost as delightful as the conversation, the main dishes even more so.

Not being a revisionist historian, I will merely comment that Adriana captures perfectly the qualities most would wish to possess in a singular individual; she is graceful, cosmopolitan, intelligent and attractive. For Brad to have achieved such a stunning coup seems difficult to believe, until I remember that both he and I have never been known for an inability to overachieve.

Besides, this confirms my thoughts made years ago to Helena and Brad regarding the order of certain events. The ante may have been upped, but I am not one to fold.

At the end of the night, we parted company, with each of us looking forward to an unexciting day ahead of us. My return to the district took far longer than I had anticipated but was buoyed by some new tunes I acquired during the process.

Now, I sit here, post saint ex experience, post d darko, post everything. I am forced to reflect, a situation I never enjoy. Turn the page.