Deciding on what to order at a relatively unexplored Ethiopian restaurant.
The man behind me
is eating raw beef sandwich.
I hear his crunching.
So difficult to get myself into the world that morning - torn, indecisive, somehow unwilling to let myself drive for twenty minutes to go to Pearl Art. It wasn't maximally efficient. I kept putting it off for a later day, when I'd already be passing on the way to someplace I had to go to. But in the end, I went anyway, and stopped off for lunch. It's a luxurious experience - eating at a place on whim, having a whole menu to look over by oneself, stuck in indecisiveness, and then finally, instinctively, settling. When did I stop following my whims enough that this seems like a luxury? All the days full of things I have to do, until exhaustion. Something's gone wrong in me.
Sitting alone,
eating a raw beef sandwich.
Light through dirty windows.
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