I can see spring on my walk home from work. People are outside. Kids push bicycles on sidewalks. Daffodils push through the soil. The sun heats the earth. The earth smells damp. Not withstanding all of this life, I feel so tired from staring at rows of cells. But the walk helps.
The process of mourning continues. Susie has been staying in Salisbury for the past week. Having all of the 911 urban gang in Salisbury changes things. Our home is silent. I get the mail, but I can't think of why to stick around in an empty house.
People who know me will perhaps recognize a lack of domestic skills in my background. Or maybe, they might say I have an imperative for entropy.
I have tried the sa-cha chicken, the hunan chicken, and the kung pao chicken at the Hunan Gourmet. The Hunan Gourmet holds a spot between the Nationwide Insurance and the Boston Chicken in the adjunct wing of the Northgate Mall. These storefronts are engines for entrepreneurs.
What strikes me about the Hunan Gourmet is the clientele. It's a men's club. There is a fifty something guy eating in the aisle on the other side of me. There's a thirty something guy across from me. Instead of saying "open", the sign out front should say "hungry bachelor kitchen." It's a pathetic sight.
"Women would stay at home and eat yogurt," says my sister in law.
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