La Salon is Fini

After a raucous evening as with the day after a natural disaster, you awake among the debris.

The difference is that some of the salon debris is edible, so one cleans and grazes, grazes and cleans.

(One does not empty the dregs of the party glasses into one glass and drink it down. One is not a skinflint or a boozer in denial.)

I believe the salon was something of a success, not perhaps too far distant from a triumph, there somewhere in the shadow of the stupendous. More of that later in the week.

Back to the ruins of the night.