Midnight Chow Boy

Strolling through the supermarket, we arrive in the produce area.  Jets shoot cool mist onto the beets and turnips every five minutes.  They should hold an amateur wet t-shirt contest here on every other Wednesday.

I absentmindedly peel a leaf from a bunch of Boston lettuce.  It's slimy in my hand.  I gingerly place it on the crown my head.  I'm either an Ann Geddes model twenty years later or a vegan Jew...only my urologist knows for sure.

Sarah is juggling cherry tomatoes.  First three, then four, five and six as Lisa flips the into the pattern.  I toss her a cantaloupe, and the whole thing goes to shit.  She tosses the two cherries she's managed not to drop to me and says, "You try, funny man."  I stick them in the corners of my eyes and scrunch up my face so they stay there.  I can't be positive, but I've the feeling that Lisa is over by the cucumbers.

Ten plus ten equals forty minus twenty.  That's all we are, and it's a long time until morning.