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“Wow,” Honey said, laughing into a deep breath to help her focus. “I didn’t know you could break dance.” I didn’t think I remembered the routine from fifth grade or not. I was improvising. But the way the wash was throwing our reality around, I’m sure I looked like a genius. By the end of it, my pelvis was killing me from the whale-dolphin conversion and a joint in the tiles had pulled out a bunch of my hair when I tried to head-spin. Honey was nonetheless impressed. But we had to get out of there. We had to do something else. We stocked up on disguises and toys, then left N333, sneaking down the North stairway, out into the lamp-lit stairs and walkway that led to the river. One of the nicest things about being with Honey was how playful, endearing, and prone to laughter she was. When we finally reached the pedestrian walkway, we stopped. The open air forced us to take a deep breath. “Wow,” Honey said. We were past the worst of it. “This is really beautiful, H. Or do you prefer Hash now?”
AMERICAN WINE WRITER 