If the children don’t grow up
Our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up
We’re just a million little gods causin' rain storms
Turnin’ every good thing to rust
--- Arcade Fire, "Wake Up"
I love me some of these lazy Sundays. I had a cheeseburger for breakfast. I watched some episodes of HBO's sublime cops and robbers drama "The Wire" with my father. The Maddening Angel called me and we went out to lunch together --- I had another cheeseburger! And, wallowing in my own esurience, fries and a vanilla malted. Then we went to her apartment and watched an episode of "CSI," a police procedural I am completely indifferent to. But she leaned on my shoulder as we sat on her couch and I missed the old days and damn she looked good. (She confessed to me, a little abashed, "I broke up with Cokehead --- again --- and got back together with him --- again --- in the space of twenty-four hours.") Later that evening, my family and I drove together to TriviaBar and joined Potato --- who, my father tells us, is an inveterate shoplifter. Waitresses T and W were not working. Spooky actually came too! (A neighbor drove her there; her still largely hypothetical vehicle was then ostensibly in the possession of Babydaddy, doing errands with Baby.) That was to my satisfaction for once; I drove her to my place before taking her home.
A caballo regalado no se le miran los dientes. Or, to put it another way: A buen hambre no hay pan duro. If you know what I mean.