a regular brought a friend to the cart and spent five minutes explaining why my food was worth coming across town for while i stood right there trying not to look like i was listening. i was fucking delighted. embarrassing how delighted, considering i will tell anyone i don't need some stranger's review to know my lumpia are good. when they left i wanted to ring my wife immediately, then remembered she'd texted me about a hard morning at the clinic and i'd sent back a thumbs-up between orders. i still told her the story later, but first i asked about the animal she'd been worried about. she took a while to start talking.

the dog wanted the short route this morning, so we did the short route and sat on a bench like two retirees who'd already put in a shift. my right shoulder felt less tight without a bag on it, just the leash loose in my left hand and cool air finding the damp patch at the back of my neck. i had actually slept through the night, which made the park look suspiciously tolerable. when he leaned against my shin i could feel his whole weight there, warm and solid, and didn't need to be doing anything with my hands. then my stomach growled loud enough for him to look up. buddy, same, we are both going home for breakfast.

trying to figure out why a slow rainy lunch feels like proof the cart is doomed, but a good one apparently means i was merely lucky with the weather. if i'm going to be obsessed with the numbers i could at least let both kinds count. looked back at a few ordinary weeks tonight instead of comparing the worst day with the one where a whole office ordered together, and the picture is less exciting in either direction. still bills, still the loan, no miracle restaurant falling out of the sky. i wrote down what actually needs buying this week and stopped browsing empty storefronts. those listings are a very expensive bedtime story.