I discovered a new fruits and vegetables vendor. He loves his work. He sold me today’s container of strawberries like he was handing me a newborn child. He boasted of the strawberry’s enormous size, to which I commented to the effect that “GIANT” as printed on the container was certainly an appropriate brand for these. I’d been noticing that strawberry brands change mercurially, but are they are not really coming from the same place? I don’t know.
The new produce vendor has another perk. He is allowed to use single-use disposable bags, the sort of bag I regularly use and reuse repeatedly. These bags were largely outlawed in New York but a few outlets still use them.
But his enthusiasm is what it’s about. He moves from one end of his table to the other, introducing customers to the wonders of whatever fruit is at hand.
I don’t have anything to say. My body feels like it is eating itself. I felt a gnawing. The smoke incident seems to have passed, for now. It could easily return. Crazy how things can change. If not smoke what next? Locusts? Raining snakes? Manhattan slips into the ocean under the weight of its trillions of tons of towers?
With nothing to say I think I’ll retreat to my desk. By clicking around cyclomedia yesterday I spotted an abandoned payphone in Brooklyn, off in an area I don’t know well. That could make for a fun Sunday journey, if the smoke stays at bay.
I showered alone today. I shower alone most days, and it’s not a matter I give much thought. I value the time in the tub. I sit when I shower, a relatively recent development that is the best fundamental change I made to my diurnal routines. It’s as close as I get to meditation.
But today I was stung by a desire to not shower alone. I remembered the long periods of time I spent with her, the Italian dermatologist, slowly washing her hair and body. She genuinely seemed to love these hours. I took them for granted.
