Saturday, June 30, 2018 5:30 AM

I sit at a table at the cheap chain cafe at 9 AM, catching my breath between a long night's work and my Friday morning shopping. Children with ice cream cones walk with mothers carrying groceries. Waves of the scent of pot smoke continually drift past me, though I can't tell from where. I get what looks like a different brand of chicken at the grocery store, though it may be the same, only packaged differently. Instead of an onion, I get a beet to roast inside it. As treats, I get an Asian pear and some pomegranate nectar, so rich and sweet that I drink it like wine. The bus comes as I try to decode what's been scrawled on the bus stop. The graffiti will wait. It's time to go home.