This is the torch singer we saw at the Martini Grille, a little hole-in-the-wall neon and stucco joint in downtown Albuquerque.
I have decided that all the love I do not have for a lover (or for the general human race, as it sometimes seems) is instead diverted to cities. I fall in love very easily with cities. And Albuquerque is pretty easy to fall in love with, sometimes, what with the bizarre and intriguing blend it has of the ancient, the atomic-modern, and its distinctly rough-around-the edges feel.
It seems that since we left, Albuquerque has grown a downtown. Prosperity seeped downhill from the suburbs and feeds the University areas, the Nob Hill region and the old Route 66, Central Ave strip.
It's kind of a weird phenomenon- wealth feeds the suburbs, and fuels sprawl. Then fickle fashion deems sprawl undesirable, and hence, downtown revivals.
I liked it- and I feel like I could probably go back . . .
But travel often makes me antsy for change. And I'm beginning to really, really need a change.