The world continues to become more surreal, as I hear my brother switch CDs. Instead of the usual Creed or Linkin Park... Frank Sinatra croons from his bedroom, floating down the corridor to tell me about my hidden persuasion.
I want a glass of chardonnay and a white linen dress. I want lilies on my coffee table. I want to wear gloves and high heels and a hat, and come-a-calling. I want coffee after supper and a rotary telephone.
Oh, Frank, what you do to me.