The weeks are really starting to fly by as we have grown more accustomed to the fast-paced lifestyle of the inner city. On Saturday morning we had an excellent breakfast at a French bakery but I had unfortunately forgotten to bring an SD card for my camera so there is no picture evidence of the trip. The memory of it will live forever I am sure.
It is that time of day when the house is quiet, the table is half covered in pots, pans, and tuber ware with food scattered across. The car isn’t in the garage and the dog lies sleeping on the blue blanket. The sun lies somewhere back there, behind the cloud over those mountains. It makes some nice gold colors on the rocky face of the mountains outside of the window. I guess it is so nice because at this time of year there is a lot of plants and flowers in the back yard so the gold makes it seem sort of dreamlike. Yeah, I’ll do em I guess. Call it being nice or being bored. Does it matter? Approaching the sink I am nipped by the denting smell. The eggshells, scraps of mango, carrot peel, and chunks of tofu drip in my fingers. Oh yes, the trash is under the sink these days. Drip once, drip twice on the floor. The water in the frying pan trembles, shaking the crusty flakes of burnt egg. Yogurt and peanu...
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