In the end, we went to pick up burritos for supper. The day had dragged with worry and fretting in the way that you worry and fret when you realize that something needs to be rearranged, something isn’t right in this set up.
So at dusk, we went to Borders, where I returned a book – third in a row, as if I can’t keep any purchase anymore, they all seem frivolous, unnecessary and there is no room for the unnecessary. Ed bought me a cup of coffee and I spent many minutes looking at Annie Liebowitz’s new book of photos and sipping that double shot frothy milk combination until the cup had only cold froth at the bottom.
We were early at the burrito place. The idea was to pack them up and take them home for later. With some late show on TV maybe, or one of the videos Ed is forever picking up at the library. Not many people looking for food now. A couple of kids, a cop, no one excited about anything, except maybe about how much rice, how much beans, how much chopped tomato should go into your tortilla.
At home, we did not wait. We opened up our burritos and ate first one half, then the other, as if it had been a long time since we had something warm and nourishing and comforting, or at least that’s the way it felt to me as the TV droned on about the failing auto industry, the failing markets, and all the rest of the day’s news.