Cold pita bread reminds me of funerals and wakes.
I read today that "Loneliness is solitude with a problem." I am somewhere between these states.
Today, the Thai women behind the counter at Thai Spoon (which I generally admonish for lackluster food, in my head that is) giggled when I said, "Table for one please, for here," shocked to not hear me say, "To go."
Everything smells aquarium today.
A lonely New York that I am not apart of.
Yesterday I was violent and hurt nothing.
I should really not engage in arguments with children.
There is a farm that I plan to live on in Oregon.
I am reading poetry on Saturday for the the first time in a long time. I fear it could be a walk-off the stage kind of moment.
The pita bread that that has been reminding me of funerals and wakes I accidentally picked up from a concert last night thinking it was trash. Given that I am living off of change, this was a great find. Maybe that person left it there for me. Maybe they are wasteful.
Prestigious pre-school. That is the best thing I have heard all day.
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