Today’s bicycle ride was mostly a make-work ride.  I wasn’t in much of a mood for anything, and got on the bike with the hopes that she’d perk me up.  I figured I’d get her a present, so I rode her to GNO Cyclery for new handgrips, though I failed to procure the streamers I’d been hoping for.  The task ride continued, interrupted by pleasure rides to time spent with S. and A.  I ended up here, at the Columns Hotel, for happy hour.  Now, this is quite a fancy St. Charles Avenue building, one where I feel a touch out of place, what with my sweaty biking clothes and bulky helmet.  It somehow doesn’t befit this mansion.  I parked my bike right in front, locked up near the valet parking I would never patronize.  There’s usually something pleasurable for me in this out of place feeling, at the Jazzercise convention, lifting free weights with men at the gym, pedaling fast down crowded streets with my skirt and heels.  I like to be where I don’t  belong because I like to see what other people are doing.  But this kind of out of place is much less interesting to me.  Not because the joke’s on me, but because there’s nothing much funny about this place or what people are doing here.  The drinks and the come ons are no surprise.  I enjoyed the company, but was happy to get back on my bike and head home.