Hygienic Sunday

There's only one thing to do the morning after an epic Hygienic Saturday night in New London . . .

Head to Ocean Beach, baby.

Hi Ocean Beach!

What's that in my hand, you ask?

What, do you think I'm *not* going to bring a bottle of champers to toast OB on a January Sunday?

No, of course I am. Not. Going to.

Anyway.

I know I spend a lot of time posting photos of OB, but just look at it. Look. Look at how the snow stays unmelted in the shadow of the railing . . .

. . . and look at the dreaminess of the day . . .

. . . and look at the John H. ferry, coming and going . . .

. . . watch out for Ledgie, John H. . . . 

. . . Dude! Be careful! . . . 

. . . a-nother near-miss.

But that's not all.

Hygienic Sunday also calls for an obligatory return to the Hygienic Galleries . . .

. . . with my favorite peeps in the world . . .

. . . and a visit to NoSto . . .

. . . with one of my favorite drivers in the world.

And perhaps most importantly, Hygienic Sunday means Out with the Old . . .

Bye bye, Neon Ledgie.

. . . and In with the New . . .

Well, hell-lo, Gorgeous.