The Room, chilled, for me. The music, same. Chill. For me. Am I over this cold, so I can delight in the sips again? Not sure. Looking at the bottles to my left, wondering what their circuitry and unseen plains withhold for the palate. Not sure I like being on sole, pushing these keys. The music stopped. Where are the guests? Maybe I should go troll around the square, offer a free flight of consistently unique, and politely audacious, savory wines.
Please forgive errors, misspells. Not in my studio. Don't have the thesaurus and spellcheck at ready. People walking by, but not in. Should I for them sip? No. I want to be in position. Already have recorded a bucket's worth of reflection this morning, early afternoon. A friend, and owner of local winery, just dropped off a bottle. Already wrote a review for this masterful effort of his. But tonight, if I am adequately resurrected, a revisit to the supple Sangio?