Dressed to the nines, I drove over to Weis Market in Huntingdon Valley, only to learn they put out breakfast between 8 and 8 30.
In my clodhoppers, I walked over the parking lot and the grass to Stargazers, I mean, Starbucks, and ordered me a hot coffee
COFFEE AT STARBUCKS
A small hot coffee, I said
eschewing the grand terminology
of its millions of fans
all around the world
What flavor dyou suppose
God prefers? Assuming he
or she never sleeps I'd
imagine the twin virtues
of caffeine and sugar in
one of endlessly refittable
they serve at the IHOP
I sip slowly under the
cloudless blue sky on
the Starbucks patio
made of brick, as someone
far far away huffs and puffs
and innocents all over
the world are struck down.
God sips slowly, his tears
falling into the toasted
bagel and cream cheese.
All the while I read my book by Steve Hamilton, who has won EVERY AWARD there ever was for crime fiction.
This book about a new character named Nick Mason is good enuf so I will indeed finish it.
Just don't ask me to remember the name.
Carrying my cuppa Starbucks into the Weis Market that used to be Superfresh that used to be Pathmark, I got a big heaping of eggs and one piece of French toast.
About four dollars.
I sat down, peppered the eggs and remembered after my first bite How awful they are! Last week the woman told me they're poured out of a big vat and scrambled.
Yuck! I ate every last bite. The French toast is quite good.
I had forgotten my needle so I injected 10 when I got home. And now another 10.
I did not have bacon, sausage, chipped beef, Scrapple or the yummy looking cinnamon rolls.
In the car I'm FINALLY listening to a good audio book. Enchantments by Kathryn Harrison.
Oh, apparently, the narrator is one of Rasputin's two daughters.