floating in a tin can

lunistice
spaceodyssey

When Lee picks the venue for dinner she picks a real dive. It's in the Village, the lighting is dim, it's cheap, no one cares what anyone else is doing, and it's the kind of place everyone is going to be comfortable in for all those reasons. She so rarely manages to talk Ginsberg into going out and being social, for reasons she absolutely understands; she doesn't like socialising either, and it's particularly tough when it's with all someone else's friends, but she tries to get him to go out and do something at least once a month, even if it's just sitting in the park hollering at strangers. It's good for him.

They arrived first and Lee's only on her first beer. (She's not supposed to be drinking at all, but she made a deal with Michael that he can cut her off at three.) The weight of the ring around her finger is still strange but welcome; she's had it sized so it fits perfectly without being irritating, but she's always aware of its presence. She still startles herself sometimes when she moves her left hand, which is always. And it feels nice to wear real clothes, not just her pajamas.

It's not a long wait until she spies a few familiar faces coming in through the front door. She tugs on Michael's hand to give him some warning, then stands up and waves. All she has to do is stand up to stand out in a crowd, though. “Sinclair! Over here.” A brief headcount assures them that everyone actually showed up, such a rarity.