on the fly, we decided to go to an italian joint. there was one in reading called venetian moon. it looked halfway decent, so i figured why not give it a try. after getting lost trying to find the door into the restaurant, we walk in. it’s loud and there aren’t very many tables. i asked how long the wait was, and the host told me we’d be seated right away. confused, he told me to walk down the stairs. we walk into the basement and find ourselves at a table with mirrors behind a cornered booth. having no expectations, i order my go-to. chicken alfredo. when it came out, the portion was small, but you’ve got to believe me when i tell you this chicken alfredo was the best italian i’ve had in my whole life. it wasn’t because i was hungry or that i hadn’t really ate anything in a few days, rather it was because it was that good. it made me think about nights at maggiano’s, giacuomos, and even vapiano’s. those didn’t compare. what was even better was having conversation, being present in the moment. it felt like a new beginning under the venetian moon’s dimly lit basement. maybe it’s not a new beginning, maybe we’re just getting back to us.
you know, the important things.
-ratha, 11:42pm, 1.6.23