Monday July 16 2012


11:10 a.m. arising from slumber.

Apricots. Figs. Orange Juice.

All day shift at China Wok.

Coconut Water is my new favorite thirst quencher.

The heat is unbearable, however I’ve become immune to the hot days and I’ll be forever immune to no AC in my car.

The lunch rush is steady.

Grilled Cheese with Tomato on a Bagel. Salt n Vinegar Chips. Honey Green Tea.

When stopping by the house I saw that we received a noncompliance notice from the warlords of Chanticleer claiming that we violated our lease agreement for “Undesirable behavior: noise violation, trash not being disposed of properly, fireworks, disturbing neighbors.” Of course this all is in regards to the Show N Tell shenanigans the other night. In other words this was a warning. I text Anthony...

Me: “no matter where we live as a community I always feel like unwanted black sheep of the neighborhood.”

On the down time at the restaurant I read Emerson’s essay called “The Transcendentalist”. Anthony reminded me of him Saturday and I felt lead to pull out his writing again. It’s so solid and on point. I feel a new inspiration to submerse myself into these kinds of thoughts. It’s encouraging because I can identify so naturally.

Cadbury Chocolate Bar.

Off work.

Shrimp Toast. Spring Rolls. Hot and Sour Soup. Trader Joe’s Summer Brew.

I call up Becca and see if we can meet up to do my hair and in return I can buy her a meal at Waffle House. She accepts. I drive to Greenbrier Mall. It’s a little before midnight so we have to kind of break in, but she knows the unlocked doors near Cinema Café and it’s not that out of the ordinary because she works at a salon inside. It’s just us and the security guards inside the mall. While cutting my hair...

Me: “Yeah I’ve been sexually deprived but its okay. I’ve been reading Emerson lately.”

Her: “So wait you’ve been jacking off to Emerson?”


Me: “Well, no. But actually you totally could. I mean just listen to this...” I pull out the book and read aloud one sentence, “So many promising youths, and never a finished man!”


Getting rid of the split ends and buzzing the sides and back. It’s been a few months since I’ve hung out with Becca. I continue talking about some of my recent revelations.

Me: “I’m trying to feed my intellect and spirit rather than the flesh in hopes the flesh will lose its appetite.”


We finish up and head over to the Waffle House on Indian River road. We settle down in our usual booth in the corner. The old man whom we’ve adoringly called The Professor is here of course. He never fails to be present. We make some assumptions about his life like maybe his home situation isn’t good. Maybe he’s a hoarder and maybe he doesn’t have the means to cook in the kitchen. He just sits there at the booth in the other corner reading his novels.

Our waiter provides us with the Coffee and according to Becca magically releases the cream cups from his hand. She’s mildly entertained by this.

Her: “I can’t tell if he’s like slow or just acting cute.”

Me: “Yeah there is a difference between acting cute or awkwardly slow. Well look at him. I think he’s cute.”

We both chuckle.

Her: “I think you’re right. You remind me of Jerry Seinfeld so much.”



I notice a bulky collection of key ring reward cards on her key chain.

Me: “Oh my gosh Becca! Why do you have all of these?”

I order a Waffle. She pushes the jalapenos she ordered with her meal off to the side of the plate.

Me: “Okay. You ordered jalapenos.”

Her: “I know. It’s too much. You want ‘em?”
Me: “No. What am I gonna—I’m not just gonna eat jalapenos. I don’t even have eggs. I don’t have toast. Or po-TA-TOES!”

She bursts out in laughter and so do I.

Me: “Why are we laughing?”

Her: “Cause of Seinfeld.”

Me: “Yeah it’s a Seinfeld thing for sure.”


We begin talking about how normal it was for men back in the day to marry young girls. Child brides. She talks about her new side job cleaning trailer homes in Richmond.


An energetic chatty woman walks in with an obvious wig and sunglasses on. She introduces herself at our booth. I offer her a fig.

Her: “Where do these come from, like Lebanon or something?”

Me: “No. It comes from California.”

And then she takes over the conversation with her own experiences. Becca and I just listen...

Her: “I just come here a lot. I’m a regular but I don’t want my picture taken cause I’m all incognito. Maybe I will when I’m like really different. I’ll put a purple wig on then I’ll get my picture taken. One time when I was a little kid I had a purple wig on and they took my picture and they put it in Life magazine. My mom’s like ‘You’re famous!’”

Back home. It’s late. I take a shower and get rid of the hot sticky residue on my skin from the past two days and wash my fresh haircut.

Sleep a little after 4 a.m.

[i] All images by me.

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