Little snippets from my little notebooks

I managed to plug up the dime-size hole on the row-boat with gum from the bottom of my shoe.
"If it holds 'til I get to shore," I say to myself, "I'll buy you a beer."

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The Usual

I'll have my usual meal at my usual table at the usual time of day. Make sure to call out my usual waiter to serve me my usual cold drink.

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So what's he doing here? Cooking? That's something. He can't even make a flat pancake. Why make pancakes anyway? He has the batter there, the greased pan and all. What is he trying to reach? His favorite diner by adding so many chopped walnuts? Or like his childhood the way he hulls strawberries like his mother? What strawberries? Does he think he'll get childhood hope or glee? Or is he merely hungry and has nothing else to eat?

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I went downtown for supper but was split over where to go: Italian or Thai. In the Thai place the lavander tablecloths felt softer to the eye than to the touch. I sat down and stretched the matching static-stiff napkins over my thighs. As soon as I looked down at the menu and saw its dinner prices, I stood up convincing myself that they were my motivation to stand, not my inferior decorum. I ate Italian that night thinking of Thai food.

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Her nose made a perfect sundial in the afternoon sun.

-T