Sunday June 30 2013

Broccoli House. Brock Davis.[i]

☼ ○ ▬

A man with hidden malicious intent is delegated a youth leader for a class of students. I'm one of them. He assigns everyone to write an essay but I don't have an idea for a prompt. As I ride an electric scooter down the street I consider using a question to start off the paper: What if oil and water did mix? I would build on the answer and find symbolism with the current state of political affairs. Eventually, I get lost in a neighborhood with an intricate system of walking paths. The tree roots protrude through cracks in the asphalt making it difficult for me to get by on my scooter. I pass five Mexicans napping on lawn chairs in somebody's yard. The scooter gives out and I'm forced to walk with it. I find a well-shaded boardwalk next to a harbor where other people have come to relax, drink a coffee, or read a book. I situate myself on a bench but fear some of the nearby street kids might try to rob me. 

▬ ○ ☼

Waking up at 11ish a.m.

White Peaches.

All day shift at China Wok.

Ahhh. I love cloudy days like this. No rain. No sun. Just nice.


A guy in his early 50's orders for carryout: sweet and sour shrimp, crab rangoon, and the Chinese donuts. I recognize his lazy voice from the countless times he's ordered before. He had requested no sugar on the donuts. He arrives. He's a funny sounding man but very jovial. When making sure Ling doesn't add the sugar he comments, "I'm Pennsylvania Dutch, so..."

All his items were fried so I comment, "But you still gotta worry about all that oil."

Man: "Yeah we don't worry about cholesterol."

He smiles real big and chuckles.

Lentil Wrap with Tomatoes, Onions, and Hummus. French Fries. Honey Green Tea.

At one point I get very frustrated with my boss. Sometimes when being the only driver I lose orders to deliver because they're either in a different direction or I won't be able to deliver them on time. She'll send Ming, one of the cooks, out to drive. In this particular case it was unreasonable because I had just gotten back from a 20-minute run and maybe two minutes before I arrive she sent Ming out with two hefty orders that I know would've tipped me well. I speak my mind and let her know how I feel. I'm supposed to be the driver. I'm fast. I'm good at what I do. I can successfully deliver orders on time.

Me: "I don't need help, Cecily!"

I've always had trouble defining the line between humility and standing up for one's self.

The day moves on.

Vegetable Lo Mein.

Off work.

When I get out of the shower Ana is here. We suit up in jogging attire and go for a walk/run around the neighborhood. We perspire greatly. Eventually, we end up at the Friend's School, climbing around on the playground and rocking on the swings as we sing the "All I Have to Do is Dream" song acapella. We find a tree house structure and hop inside. It's very dark and shadowy with faint outdoor lighting from the house nearby. Our faces connect – we kiss and fondle each other's bodies – we become tree house lovers. Once again, like the magic bus experience, there's subtle role playing – pretending there are kids playing around in the sandbox but they can't see us nor do they know what we're doing. It's a secret but it's a thrill to know that at any moment someone could discover our sexual act.

Me: "Well, we did it in the bus over there. Now we had sex in the tree house. What's next?"


Back at the house.

Sharing bowls of Honey Bunches of Oats with Milk. Then, lounging in the bed watching the first half of Midnight Cowboy (1969).

[i] Broccoli Tree House. Brock Davis.

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