chocolate fields along Esopus Creek
Saturday, May 24 2003
I looked in the refrigerator several times in search of either cheese or bread, two of my favorite foods of instant-gratification. I could find neither. Somehow I dragged by ass through the day despite recurring bouts of low blood sugar. Sure, I'd eat something like a banana or a fistful of baby carrots, but nothing maintains a satisfactory level of glucose-fueled cognition like bread and cheese.
By evening my craving for these foods had risen to such an extreme level that I actually made the suggestion to Gretchen that we go out to eat at the Hurley Mountain Inn. I didn't think life on earth was possible unless I had one of our simple meals of plain cheese pizza and french fries. Yeah, french fries. Freedom fries weren't going to do it for me. For drinks, I had two beers and Gretchen had two martinis. It's rare that Gretchen consumes more alcohol than me, but maybe this is the weird alternative universe that opens up when I'm the one who suggests we eat out.
Dinner conversation concerned the problem of how to deal with the contents of a bubbling test tube when its activity proves insulting or otherwise obnoxious. For me, it's easy: it's just a fucking test tube, don't let it get to you!
Again, Sally had been waiting patiently for us out in the car, and when we were done with our meal, we took her on a walk along the banks of Esopus Creek. We headed downstream (northeastward) until we came upon vast freshly-plowed cornfields. In the halflight they looked like they were made of chocolate, though underfoot their dampness gave them an unexpected rubbery quality. We ventured so far out into the barren chocolate field that when Sally was suddenly struck by the idea of running around with a stick in her mouth, there was nothing available for her to grab.
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