As I passed the corner Starbucks on my way to Sushi-Ko for lunch, I truly felt the burden lifted-- 11 out of 13 is proof enough for them to return the street-side patio furniture to its normal location. Now if it's enough to get a solid conviction as well, perhaps we'll all slowly forget the terror of the past few weeks.

But I didn't want to talk about snipers really. I wanted to talk about lunch. My fabulous lunch out in the neighborhood-- like all the other working folk. B. has been encouraging me for weeks+ to splurge on at least one lunch out a week-- drop the schedules and the revenue worksheets and the editing and the .mpp files and escape for a normal lunch delivered to my table with only the minimal effort of reading and choosing on my part. Today was the day. I grabbed my note card and favorite purple pen and gridded letter-writing paper, donned my peacock blue in-between-warm-enough-and-truly-cold-days coat, and took off to inaugurate a tradition.

I began a letter to Krista as steaming hot green tea arrived at my table-- which was followed quickly by steaming, smoked muscle and eggplant miso soup. I'm always quick to notice when I dine alone how the wait staff is always more friendly (which I like) and how they seemingly speed your order along, as if to make your miserable lonely indulgence just a tad shorter (which I believe is thoughtful overall, but unnecessary in my particular situation-- I'm luckily a comfortable single diner.) I left the lid on my soup for a few minutes (served in these admirably-cool, inverted Oriental bowls with lids to keep the soup piping hot until you're ready to consume it) while I finished a particular thought in the letter. Things seemed to slow down after that.

I enjoyed a light kappa maki and indulged in one order of tamago while surreptitiously eavesdropping on the conversation of the three individuals sitting at the table directly across from me-- suity, fun, and witty State Department workers. They seemed to only know one another as casual acquaintances which made their conversation more open and well-rounded and therefore vastly more interesting than specific office gossip would have been. My tea was refilled again and again until I finally finished my paper-conversation with Krista, paid my check, donned my coat, and set out into the chilly gray day once again.

I had promised B. I would stop at Max's on my way home to get some spicy pumpkin frozen yogurt, but being full-- and already feeling decadent from my sweet tamago-- I walked instead to the post office to buy a single stamp and send my now-completed letter on its way. I passed a number of people on the streets-- more than I'd seen in some time-- and as I rounded the corner to my apartment, I noticed a few shivering people around a table on the Starbucks patio, savoring-- albeit coldly-- their reborn fresh-aired freedom.

Just like me.