the unthinkable

the restaurant just opened and they haven't yet put out the rollups. my date whispers, 'there's no one here', in a tone that suggests we're surrounded. the onion rings arrive hanging from a little metal piece of art, which also cups two shallow dipping bowls filled with what tastes like ketchup, shrimp cocktail sauce and horseradish. Our waitress' name is Lex. I make no jokes, though she looks like the type that would open other people's lockers in high school. she's got nothing to say to me either except the basic specials. my utensils are magnetized and i use the knife to draw out some loose change and nails from my pockets. my date is duly impressed.

when we're done rearranging the frites and slaw, i ask Lex to wrap it up and she advises us to do it ourselves. Wouldn't want them to touch my food, she says of the kitchen staff. we depart without leftovers, but i pocket a fork.

Stepping out into the mall is a business of etiquette. Too few appreciate the giving qualities I bring to my pedestrian ambles, but i am always aware of traffic and flow. I am like a river among rocks. So it is a short step to madness for me when oncomers disdain to appreciate the delicate art of passingby. too many times i have tasted murder on my teeth as a parcel or elbow is delivered into my path by an oblivious walker. learn to merge! i choke back the scream. this is what happens in the mall. if you are not a survivor, you should not come here.

not for the first time, my date compliments me on the parking spot i secured. and she is right. it is a fine parking spot. but all things end.