Feast Day

I haven’t eaten breakfast for close to a decade; it usually consists of dark roast coffee and half a pack of Marlboro lights. They usually keep me sufficiently tweaked out until dinner time when I finally get an appetite for food. Well, Cymphonee and I got a lot of sleep and made the trip to good old Super King Market this morning. If you happen to live close to one of these markets, you are blessed. Loaded up on all the staples, took a break from chicken (getting tired of it), and grabbed some fruits and vegetables I’m proud to say will last us through the next two weeks.

The hungriness leads me to crush a bag of Milanos, some Baby Ruths, BBQ corn nuts and a bunch of munchies from the 99 cent store. We had some good laughs and some good memories strolling down the aisles that used to keep us entertained for hours. Crushed a bunch of plums while watching the Olympics.

Saw a cyclist from Belgium hit the afterburners in the last stretch of his journey; saw the US take second in rowing; women’s soccer team won, and women’s volleyball team crushed Puerto Rico. I love watching the Olympics. Got tons of food to go through. I plan to eat, sleep, and watch the competition this whole week until the smoky beast slowly dies.

Feast day–every day–is well overdo.

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