Walking to the tiny cafe on the corner, running into two friends from Chicago along the way.
The massive, industrial, metal door, painted pink.
How, for years, one-touch automatic window buttons have been reserved for front seats. The renewal of faith I felt at being in a minivan with one-touch window buttons for the back seats.
The paintings of eggs on the wall of the breakfast restaurant.
The paintings-come-to-life in an egg and gouda cheese sandwich on a carrot cake waffle bun, one of the best things I’ve eaten in my entire freaking life.
Trying to read Asimov’s Foundations, struggling to get into it, falling asleep by the pool instead.
Dinner with family friends, music friends, neighbor friends, and girlfriend colliding.
Listening to Beatles the whole way home.
Sacha Baron Cohen getting bigots who would balk at men who wear dresses to wear dresses on Who Is America?
How the hell do you fold a fitted sheet?
The consistency of Kanye’s Twitter profile picture in the greater inconsistency of his life. Feeling surprised and confused that he hasn’t impulsively (or calculatingly) changed it over the years along with his music, clothes, and politics.