Happy New Year, Fealdamarians.
Of course, it's late. Your absent ruler has been busy with gaming and loving. It's been a while, but days like today force you to look out the window and tell you that you need to write. Write a long and lengthy and long story about a maiden whose beauty is enshrined to you, and no one else. For all I care, I can only explain it in terms of a long gaming bout. Or, for that matter a long telephone call.
New years was celebrated back in Durgapur. Nightclub dancers and drink. I did not get to experience either. (The dancers were hags in skimpy clothes.) Not that it matters much.
In a sense, yesterday was new years. Out by Pam's (whose waitress[es] hate me) with a girl, I think last evening was spent well, not to talk about the afternoon.
And the entire first week will be spent well, I am hoping. Durgapur was amazing. Now, college should be the diametric opposite.
For now, I will be concealed by the precious angel-lore of winter nights. Wanderlust and soul-songs will be forthcoming. Don't worry.
{The reference here is Tristania}
