Never seen a nun driving before...she had one arm on the wheel.  I gotta start walking more at nights since I can't run.  People will probably see me, and think I'm humble.  They'll want to tell their children, I imagine, and the children will wave at me.

I've been eating at supermarkets, local and big, a lot lately.  I'll usually go to the deli section where you take a number and order your meat, but I'll go for the various salads, you know, a quarter pound chicken salad, a third brocolli salad, maybe qunoia or orzo, this time—I don't go into the decimals though.  I try not to give them a hard time and take what they give me because I don't want their dirty looks.  It makes my day interesting; I try to settle on a balance of what's healthy and appealing.  Staring at my selection in the container, I'll realize I don't really want this one, but I'll picture having to tell the guy, and then I decide I do want it.  I know there's mayonnaise in a lot of the salads, but you know, what's the point of torturing myself when I usually sabotage my day's effort at the end of the night anyway?  I'm just going to try it all over again the next day.  Sometimes when I write down despairing existential questions, I shake my head and make hand gestures to align with the physical question.  It makes my day interesting.  When I get my containers, I find a shady spot, a park, or under a tree in my slab, and enjoy my lunch.  People walk by and sometimes I stop in the middle of eating to stare at them and they stare at me and we both stare at each other for a moment and they pass and I continue eating.  When I see someone eating, I'm usually curious what the bloke has chosen, maybe make a mental note; and so, they may be curious as to what I selected.  They can always ask.  I wouldn't mind; I wouldn't eat their arm.  Sometimes I want to inquiry if they recommend what they just tasted.