Woke up at 3:30 for 6 a.m. flight. Ate one two of my beloved Teaism ginger scones, while everyone else raved about the sausage. Led a tour of the national mall, including Union Station, the Supreme Court, and my beloved Library of Congress.
We added friends to the group as they arrived at the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial. There was a whole lot of handsome in front of the White House.
Filled with french cuisine, we walked to Stoney's for the wedding eve festivities. When the night was still young, Jack Serpentine regaled us with a telling of the "Hot Hamburger" story, about his youngest brother Dimebag, as Dimebag himself nodded along.
(The sound is not great, but it's acceptable. The unrecorded beginning of the story is simple: their family was out to eat at The Carriage Crossing, deciding what to order...)
Later, while I was raconteuring, a bunch of shots were taken. Mistakes were made.
My lady and I stayed up past one despite our early start, but were not among the heroes who closed the bar.
Not much going on Saturday.
Saturday. What a total bore.
Museums. A Thai meal that resulted in Floyd's newest nickname, taken from the menu: Crying Tiger.
Brunch, return flight, Arthur Bryant's, home.