I am a native in this world And think in it as a native thinks

Friday, May 20, 2016

Urban poetry

I call this one Jet Lag -- the uninspiring view from my hotel bed in Melbourne at about three o'clock in the morning on my first night in Australia.

I'd forced myself to stay awake until eight or nine o'clock, watching a Project Runway-style competition involving pottery -- would the bowls break in the kiln? Would the glaze darken to the expected shade of blue? (Yet another example of the strange and wonderful country that is Australia.)

I hadn't eaten dinner, so when I got tired of playing with my camera in the dark, I called room service and ordered a sliced chicken and avocado sandwich on toasted sourdough with a green salad and  coffee. I think I remember almost every bite of that sandwich -- I was buzzing with exhaustion and half-drugged from the sleep I'd managed to get, but when I started to eat, all of my scattered neurons snapped to attention and decided there was something they could all agree on: Food.

It was an awfully good sandwich.

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