Dinner

Stream of consciousness fiction. Letters written from friends what don’t exist and an electro chemical imbalance cr-cr-creeps. The tonight show with jay leno, guest asks “do you believe in aliens??”. Dopplegangers of strangers like the pod-folk from Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978 Philip Kaufman/Donald Sutherland version). Lastly, brown-haired girl runs across an open field with but a taste of her own spit in the dirt. Her dispassion was alluring, and the scabby cuts on her face spelled a sort of masochistic allure that I’ve come to seek in gurls. What in the fuck is goin’ on?!.

I made this wicked cannellini bean burger after getting off work (I’m a fry cook, in case y'were was wonderin’.. ever chew on a No-Doze pill??) late last night and it was as delectable a sandwich as any kind you could muster that weren’t drippin’ wet with bovine blud. The beans were crushed in a bowl designed for such and mixed w/ pan fried onion and garlic, before bein’ seasoned liberally with red chillies, a pinch’a cumin/paprika and fresh coriander. Flash fried in a boiling stock (pictured below), and served w/ rudimentary salad and a DELICIOUS spinach + brie sauce; this pup were tastier than even the finest slab of rec-curd. I try my best to refrain from meat product of any sort at least twice a week, so as to feed the delusion that I’m living something resembling a healthy/balanced life in at least one aspect, and with a couple of these it wouldn’t be no challenge whatsoever. Went a treat w/ a pair of Canadian Club-brand whiskey & ginger beers (surprisingly pleasant in and of themself), and the Groundhogs’ “Blues Obituary” LP. Better than ma’s own gristly rissole slop, and that’s fer sure.