It was our first NYE together and, being that the mountains were lackluster in their choices of events and parties, we decided on Duluth. To my surprise, this was a different Duluth than the one printed on my Duluth Trading work t-shirts.
I was surprised that at their festival there would be a free concert, and y’all know how I love live music. Not only was it a concert, but it was the Brothers Osborne. Matty had booked us a room at the Best Western for the weekend.
This adventure kicked off as most of mine did, in an old, gas-eating, slightly drafty black Jeep. I made my way down I-85, and this time I didn’t miss my exit.
It was one of those red-nosed, hand-blowing, knitted-hat nights. We arrived at the festivities, parked away from the crowd, and made our way to the sights. In the town square, food trucks lined the curbs, kids wove through the crowd, and there was a strong smell of coffee mixed with hot chocolate. We joined a line and shuffled toward a meal whose thin plate warmed our hands.
We nudged and inched our way toward the stage and landed just a couple of rows from the band. What do I remember from that concert? Her gloved hand in mine, our eyes meeting, her hair falling against my coat, and our last first New Year’s midnight kiss. Oh, and Brothers Osborne was there to provide a high-energy soundtrack to our personal fireworks.
We quickly made our way through the chilly drizzle to Matty’s car which seemed a mile away. I delighted in splashing in the puddles on the sidewalk while catching a couple of side eyes. We made it halfway when…
Matty: My ears are cold — where’s my knitted hat?
Philip: (Pats coat pockets, pants pockets, panics.) Ummm… ummm…
M: Didn’t you put it in your back pocket?!
P: Wondering which puddle it was currently lying in.
M: …
P: Ummm…. Sorry?
No comments:
Post a Comment