tuesday, december 14th 2010

I now take my coffee black. It's because I'm living in South America and I don't care for steamed milk. Half-and-half just isn't around. Perhaps I just don't know what it's called.

I'm on the veranda taking an unearned break from the light chores I've completed and avoiding the heavy lifting yet to be done. Murakami abets me in relegating job-hunting to the margins.

There's a cloudless, blue sky over Buenos Aires today. I am beginning to learn that the truly vicious days - the ones in which the humidity and the heat combine to wring my life's very essence from my body an oily drop at a time, multiplied by one hundred thousand individual pores - are the days in which the sky is mottled white, like the fat on rotting bacon. But today's sky is cheerful and the temperature is equally warm and inoffensive. My coffee reflects the sky. It is a sleek black and blue. Like Superman's hair.