Coffee: Bolivian Medium-Dark, Trader Joe’s Brand
I drive back to Burlington with a scratchy cough and a bottle of Advil. The streets are disappearing in fog.
I went home for a belated birthday get together with family. We met in a crowded Mexican restaurant where I used to know all the waiters but now I know some of the waiters. It was cold and crowded and loud and bright with pink string lights set out for Christmas. It was comfortable but nothing like I remember.
Later, I met friends for dinner at an empty Chinese sit-down. They were running Greensboro news. The food was so-so. The staff was familiar. They hadn’t aged. We each got soup with the dinner and most of us gave our soups to C. He had so many soups you’d think he were trying to drown, but pleasantly. We finished eating and my fortune told me to follow my heart.
Cold old roads, cracked winter pavement.
Novel Count: (on hiatus while I recover from this cold)
Currently Reading: Cherry, Nico Walker (Finished! Mixed feelings overall; I’ll try to get to a review this weekend)
Support Relief for Family Suffering at the Border – RAICES DONATION CAMPAIGN
Under the thinning fog the surf curled and creamed, almost without sound, like a thought trying to form inself on the edge of consciousness. – Raymond Chandler, The Big Sleep