Ridiculously jet-lagged. Gulping diet Coke and forcing awakeness, I was just about to crawl into pajamas and prepare for a slow slide to sleep when Taylor got a phone call.
Cut to two hours later. Our kitchen was filling with the scent of salmon and crusty bread, homemade pasta and freshly made meat sauce--all prepared by our pro-chef friend. My friends, this is the definition of luxury. Having gourmet meals made in your home. I highly, highly recommend.
But the best part of the evening? Gathering in the living room, made damp and humid from the bodies and the cooking and the overcast summer air outside. Clutching plates full of authentic Italian food, only to be lost in the world of a New York fueled by mob politics and intrigue, courtesy of the Corleone Family.
We watched in silence, a rarity in this apartment. But with some movies, talking is impossible. With some movies, you have to pay attention, you have to pay respect. You have to honor the shots, the script, the music. The spot-on casting and the loveliness of nuance. You have to quietly sit back when it is done, eyes alight and mouth contentedly smiling, knowing that incredible stories and worlds are still out there.