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That Went Fast ... Again

And so another trip to the Cape comes to a close eight days of friends and laughs and naps and walks and writing and amazing meals and warm (even hot!) sunshine sandwiched in between two hurricanes, or at least the threats of them. Bill was pretty much a non-event. Danny got us all wet yesterday (think Brighton Pride and then quadruple it), but nothing too drastic. It was actually quite pleasant, a long, rainy afternoon which I spent the majority of in Frappo66, scribbling some notes, hanging out with a dragon-tattooed girl, and looking at boys.

Here's the thing about Ptown. No matter how pricey it gets, or how posh it tries to be, it still feels like home. I still remember my first impromptu visit when I was probably only 18 or 19 years old. I remember coming back with Larry for the first time and all the subsequent B&Bs and guest houses we stayed in before we got Cape Fear. I remember the first time I walked into Cape Fear, each half-flight of stairs compelling me to go "Wow, is this really ours?", heading up to the roof deck to see the bay from one side and the ocean from the other. And it's all still here. Somebody else might live there full time now, but I'm pretty sure we'll grow old in this condo. But retirement's a long way off and it looks like we're in London for the foreseeable future.

There was a time before the beginning of this summer that I wondered if Ptown might have lost its attraction, that maybe we'd moved on having been away for so long.

Those thoughts have been quashed, and even though I'm not sure when I'll get here again, I know that I will and when I arrive, either by boat or by plane or by car, I'll feel like I've come home again.

Next stop, Toronto.