novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- routine i read my book crossing the street, tuning out of peripherial vision and the car trying to turn left next to me. my feet stopped me outside the korean restaurant, whitewashed walls and pictures of plastic food. the waitress knew my order before i spoke so i sat down, reading until the miso soup stopped smoking. when the last terryaki soaked grains of rice attached themselves to my shaking chopsticks, she brought me a box for my vegetables, which i never touch. i scooped them in, plunked down money and read my way back to the office, past a man in a monkey suit running past me and a chuckling crossing gaurd, past the clay pot veggie house that closes at three every day even though its sign says two, past carl's jr condiments splattered all over the concrete. i read into the office and handed my vegetables over to stephanie, who would actually eat them, who thanked me by telling me puns about eskimos and siamese twins. 12:29 pm - 7.11.01 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||