I was really struggling with what to have for lunch today. It made me feel confused and lonely to be so uncertain. My head went whoosh-whoosh. I felt like I had deleted the transaction of my wakening. No, that wasn’t it. That sounds stupid-ass. It was more like a red bandanna in a gutter near that park in San Fransisco, the one where I kissed Julie before she left me behind with these words, “When we are together, I feel alone.”
I felt like the time in Alabama I was sucked into a deep underwater cavern below a rapid, and I was pinned there, the frothy water roaring into my body, stripping me naked, somersaulting me into stone, a giant fist shoving me into the black cave, and as I flailed and tumbled and realized I was actually, for real, right now, about to die and I knew in my very suddenly still and clear mind that God and the universe and that special little coin of fortune I carry in my back pocket had abandoned me forever with no guidance, care, or specialness at all…
So I went for a drive to seek sustenance.
My baby-baby car purrs like a table saw.
Saw a store in a strip mall. It said, BURRITOS AS BIG AS YOUR HEAD.
Inside stood this Hispanic man. He had a face like a folded napkin. He waved me closer, to show me something. Something he thought up, this radical idea. His invention.
1.) Gathered tortilla chips.
2.) Covered them in cheese.
3.) Added toppings.
“Um, ok,” I said. (I knew in my heart this was not his invention, but why tell him? I’m not into slaying people’s rainbows.) “But answer me this: Do you have any very, very, very hot sauce?”
His eyes twinkled. He put very, very, very hot sauce on top the, the, uh, whatever he called this creation. I gave him 5 dollars and he gave me a Styrofoam square container and I drove home and opened the container and took a photo and then consumed my food like women gathered at a river.
The New Yorker has a pretty great profile of Alec Baldwin.