Meatballs with marinara sauce and melted provolone; Cannoli; Dried figs; Raw clams; Steak fries; Fried fish with mashed potatoes and green beans with a lemon wedge on the side; Crispy focaccia with thinly sliced tomato, seasoned with salt, pepper, oregano, garlic and basil; Fresh spring rolls with peanut sauce; Lobster mac and cheese; Pork fried rice; Hot apple crumb pie with a scoop of vanilla; Popcorn; Eggplant parm panini; Rice and refried beans; Homemade potato salad.
I wish I had some popcorn. Maybe I will eat some pretzels in lieu of it. But that would practically be like eating rice cakes instead of what you really fancy.
I like eating popcorn because you can eat a lot of it with little consequence. (Except when you bite down on a kernel). And the repetitiveness of it — popping one fluffy piece after the other — takes your mind off things.
I wonder how much popcorn you would have to eat to actually get full. A pound or two? At any rate, I don’t have any.
A customer is casting a spell at the Starbucks counter. Listen to her conjure. The barista is spellbound! The pastries, they glaze over…
the french fries were stuck
in a lump of hardened american
that choked the potatoes by the wad
the slender cuts jutted
like push pins from the clot of cheese/meat
as if shoved through a voodoo doll
the tray-shaped carton lay
like a messy casket displaying a corpse
while life at the party raged on