nutloaf

I just wasted big heap time reading dirty sugar cookies. Tonight I was reading these scrippps that have been endlessly stressing me out and I didn’t want to “waste time cooking” so I went out to find food. I live in the Castro now and it’s nice b/c I can go into a restaurant, take my shirt off, and pour ice water on my chest hairs without fear of running into anyone I know. I walked all around but all the restaurants had people in them. I wanted to eat alone, unseen. Takeout produces too much paper and styrofoam and shit, and I might not be alone at home. They might see me eating. I had a copy of the New Yorker and a 12-ft long RCA cable so I (once I bring it home) I’ll be able to listen to WFMU and BBC World Service at loud volumes. Just as I was giving up I found house of chen. It was good. Ate a lot of broccilli. I was the only person in the restaurant. The waitress said please after everything: “here is tea, please.” I read the last paragraph of the Tad Friend/San Quentin story, the A.L. Kennedy story “Wasps” (marriage fucken sucks) and some of the Peter Schedjehal Courbet bio piece (for a while Lacan owned origin of the world. He kept it behind a wooden door which he would open when he wanted to show visitors.)
I am sleepy. I love you.
nutloaf

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One thought on “nutloaf

  1. banana

    I lived/loved for house of chen for two years. they deliver, but only if you order three or four thousand dollars worth of scallion pancakes.

    do try the vegetarian delight without mushrooms. it’s the fucking peaches.

    Reply

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