Be Careful of Needles in Installations

This was my lunch from sometime last week. It was fried rice with ketchup and leftover ingredients from the minestrone soup I had made the day before. Tomatoes make everything taste heavenly.

So after a week of panic over a midterm that does not require much panic and a much needed night at a bar with the kendo club, I crawled out of my bed this afternoon at 2:00 to copy notes from a friend for a midterm that requires more panic than I can give and to go to a volunteer event held by an architecture firm. After getting out of the subway station, I found myself located in an area with sparsely populated streets, some interesting eateries (there is a curry shop that looks like a chocolate shop), graffitied walls, a secondhand clothing shop, an antique shop, houses in neglect juxtaposed with houses in the holiday spirit, warehouses, and land for lease. Apart from a group of laughing Asian exchange students at an intersection, I felt like there was nothing familiar that existed in my proximity. Later I left the architectural firm and entered a coffee shop part of a chain that was being pushed out of the Canadian cafe market,where the friendly cashier who served me struggled to understand what I meant by cheese pie and then rushed his elementary school aged son in his native tongue to microwave my pie. As I stood in the subway station waiting for the train, I bit into my oily cheese pie hungrily with a tinge of sorrow.