It's funny living in a big city. Things happen all the time, people aren't always their best selves (not that they always are in small towns, or villages, or hamlets either), but partially I think that comes from just having to exist in such a big place with so many other strivers doing their striving things. For example: my commute is usually an hour. That's to get home; usually shorter to get to work, but I have to get up before it's light out to beat the traffic. Yesterday I made a wrong turn on my way home and ended up waylaid in the city grid. Took me 2.5 hours to get home. I had to pull into a service station and buy a map. I wasn't even angry. I just sort of shrugged. But I did have to beg off on my night's plans (MY FRIEND: Why can't you come? ME: I got lost getting home. MY FRIEND: You fool!), which stunk.
Anyway, so today I head out for lunch. I just wanted something to bring back to the office. I go to this Brazilian bakery and get this gigantic powdered sugar-dusted pastry with big fat layers of yellow custardy something. The woman had to put it in a cake box, tied up with butcher's twine. Then she gets into this hellish argument with this old Asian woman in Yoko Ono glasses - the Asian woman felt the Brazilian woman was yelling at her. But it's a cafe at lunch time; everyone's sort of yelling at each other. It was really this crazy scene. And they were both rather dignified individuals. I saw some screaming in Fredericton, sure, but it was usually a homeless guy screaming at a pigeon or two drunk soldiers screaming at each other outside a bar.
Anyway, the point of the story is this: that pastry was fucking GOOD. Holy shit! But big. Embarrassingly so. I carted it up to my office in my little cake box, carrying it by the string over my pointer finger. Then I got into my little space and started wolfing away at it. Oh, baby! I don't know what that yellow stuff is exactly, but I know this: yellow = good. But I'm pretty sure I looked like a crazyperson. It was so big and unwieldy, yellow custard squirting out this-and-thattaway, powdered sugar drifting down to the floor and all over my fingers and elsewhere ...
What was I talking about?
I need another one of those pastries.
All best, Craig.