Gravity

No, not the movie.

Today I can't win. I can neither give in to, nor withstand gravity. Earth's gravity you see pulls. If I resist it successfully, then I will float away into the deeper reaches of space where it's cold, and we all know how much I hate being cold. Poor toes and other extremities. I can't subject to cold not after all they've done for me. By the same token, I can't give in to gravity either else I'll be pulled into the inner core of the earth where it's all molten and hot. Too hot is as bad as too cold. So you see, I'm doomed, doooooomed, to continue exactly where I am at.

It may be time to buy some fleeces (just in case I get flung out into space) or some asbestos fire-retarding pyjamas in case I do melt into Earth's core

What should I do?

I know. I'll turn the stove off, let the chicken cook sous-vide (kind of) and go to 41st and then to play at Trafiq where hopefully the lights will be green, and the almond croissants freshly made.  If they have any at all - and it wouldn't surprise me if they won't - it's been that kind of week. You'll see - I'll report back later - they either won't have any, or if they do, they'll be sold out.

In which case, however much I should connect the two, I'll have to bridge the lack of almond croissants with Ponce de Leon. It was Florida where he was seeking the fountain of youth wasn't it?

You see, in the end, we are all destined to wait around for death. And it serves us all right too for having the temerity to fuck around with Earth the way we have.

Okay, now let's keep those extremities crossed that almond croissants are still available at 2:30.

And shrimp too - raw and spaced out singly on the ice of the fish shop.