It’s well past midnight here in the nationally neglected Mountain Time Zone, and thus 2020 for me. The fireworks off to the west have begun to die down (all those Latinos in Lakewood sure do love their fireworks). In the living room, a 2003 Fleetwood Mac concert is playing on AXS TV (“Landslide” sounds pretty good). The prosecco bottle is getting pretty low, and I’m trying to ignore the two slices of anchovy and jalapeno pizza in the fridge.
To anyone reading this, I wish you and yours a wonderful new year. I’m going to drain that prosecco bottle, maybe listen to a little more Fleetwood Mac, and call it a night. And a year. And a decade.