Journal Entry No. 63011

A street hawker sat next to me on the ride back this morning. His hands were dirt stained and his nails untrimmed as he held his wares carelessly splayed on his lap: a wooden maria on the verge of tears and Christ crucified endlessly. His faded shirt and torn jeans were dusty on his dusty body. He was unwashed and unkempt but his soul electric had a rough edge that cut straight through all reason to my apartment.


Journal Entry No. 60411

Vanilla ice cream and Yakult.

Alarm wakes me at exactly 7. I turn on the tv and tuck myself snugly back under the covers. It feels good to pretend that it's six months ago; sleeping in, breakfast in bed, and modern family on the tube.

At 10 my manager calls but I don,t pick up. I hop in the bath and take a quick shower. And then I text her back saying I,ll be in the office in 5.

Our office assistant tells me I am red all over my face, and on my neck. She solicitously puts the back of her palm to my forehead and declares that I have a fever. It,s nothing, I say, just my morning rashes, but she,s not convinced. It might be dengue fever she stubbornly suggests, but i firmly disagree. It is only flu. And my morning rashes. To be sure she says to eat vanilla ice cream and drink Yakult.

Later in the afternoon, I am chatting with a buyer. Can you believe it, I say, this girl is telling me to eat vanilla ice cream and I,ll get better.

Why, she interjects, everyone knows that!

Crazy people.

I do as they say anyhow.