One man’s search continues
I saw my son the other day. I wore a long-sleeve shirt over my shirt, pants over my pants, a hat, and gloves. The only thing exposed were my eyes. I didn’t want to chance getting my in-laws sick.
My sister-in-law picked me up from the train.
Her: You’re being ridiculous, you know.
Me: Nope! If your parents are getting sick, it’ll be causea you, not causea me.
I didn’t tell my son that I was going to see him so it would be a surprise. When I finally saw him, I wouldn’t let him hug me until I got cleaned up. Then I practically tackled him.
It was the first time I touched him in well over a month. After a minute or so, he finally demanded I let him go.
Him: (laughing) Stop! Stop!
Me: Never!
It’s been raining a lot lately so when the sun broke out the other day, I continued my quest for deep-fried chicken. Kinda.
This is what I tool around with, BTW:
I went up Central Park West to West 96th Street and then across the park to 5th Avenue. Normally, there would be crowds in front of the Museum of Natural History but it was completely empty.
Made my way to 103rd Street and Lexington. The thing is, I was actually heading to the White Castle on West 103rd Street and 1st Avenue.
I know, I know. I need help.
Now, I was going east-bound on a west-bound street when I found myself in front of this store: Texas Chicken & Burgers.
Well, I thought, this is kismet. I should try and stick to my low-carb, high-fat/protein diet anywho.
So, in I went and I bought an assortment of a dozen pieces of fried chix.
Treasure in hand, I went home.
Definitely the worst of the lot compared to KFC and Popeyes.
Good god, I’m now gonna be known as a connoisseur of deep-fried fowl fast food.
Seriously though: Kentucky>Texas.
Not because the Kentucky governor’s a democrat but I’m sure that doesn’t hurt.
Found out that I’ve got the COVID-19 antibodies for sure.
Because of this, I met a grey-eyed writer from Bensonhurst. In some ways, she’s my normal type, in others not so much; I always felt purely artsy people were a bit weird.
But she has potential. I suppose that’s all you can ask for in the world right now.
Her: Do you mind if I ask what happened?
Me: We only just met. (pause) Let’s not trade our sad stories just yet. There’ll be time enough for that.
Podcast Version: Trading our Sad Stories
Location: my empty apartment, which feels a bit emptier
Mood: can’t look at another piece of fried chicken
Music: Just wanna go home (Spotify)
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7 replies on “Trading our sad stories”
[…] that note, the grey-eyed writer has a dog. I can’t do dogs in my apartment. It’s one of my […]
I have no idea why, but this sentence made me laugh out loud: I just love it.
“Good god, I’m now gonna be known as a connoisseur of deep-fried fowl fast food.”
Am subscribed to your posts and have a habit of saving several or sometimes a couple of weeks and then have a reading binge. Needless to say I like what you write.
Happy to hear you are on the mend.
Hugs to you and yours.
This comment made my day, thank you. I always wonder who reads and what they think.
More comments please!
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[…] (laughing) But not your best friend? Her: (long pause) No. She died. Me: Well, I guess we’re trading our sad stories […]
[…] was sad and involved someone else that lost her family. I knew I wasn’t her fella but we traded our sad stories, […]