Hungry, Lonely

Hunger

I just spent 1/3 of my money on fruit. My monthly paycheck has come in late so I live off of the change I found under my mattress ($1.53). Technically, I can spend $1.34 out of my Chase account without overdrawing and $2.63 out of my First National Bank account, but I’m taking no chances on debit card purchases. I was trying not to spend any money on food, after all I had groceries at home: Corn tortillas, pasta, boca burgers, curry powder, and crushed tomatoes, so I didn’t need to, but I got desperate.

I tutor a man in Long Island who loves to spend our sessions regaling me with stories of his failing marital situation, his sickly eight month old pre-me, and his depressingly fluctuating job status. After another 3 hr session where I explained what a vertical asymptote was and he explained why his wife kicked him out, I was ready to go home. This wasn’t because I didn’t want to hear his personal issues. I’m a guy who put up an ad on craigslist to offer out free therapy, so my emotional voyeurism was keeping me turned on by this man’s confessions. It was because I was ready to eat a large bowl of spaghetti with curry powder on it. I hadn’t eaten since I wrapped a boca burger in a corn tortilla and put it in the microwave 4 hrs earlier, and my stomach was making like a shitter in woods seeing a by product of bee pollination. As I headed back to make my journey back on the LIRR, my client with the over complicated life told me that he was headed into Manhattan anyway, and could therefore drive me back to Brooklyn. This would give my prepaid train card one more use, and I’d be eating my Italian-Indian delights sooner, so I graciously accepted.

He had to “quickly run some chores” so I sat in the car as we made our way to what seemed like every corner of Long Island only to bring back different ethnicities of good smelling food to torture me on our car-ride back. By the time we tried to leave suburbia we were stuck in rush hour traffic, waiting bumper to bumper in a 90 degree car – as the driver was Jamaican and therefore needed to feel like it was summer when he was wearing a coat.

We didn’t sit in silence though. We got to conversing. One sided conversing where Jamaican-me-nuts was now detailing his conspiracy theories about the JFK assassination, 9/11, Obama’s election, Health Care, and the Trix bunny. My headache grew as the blaring horns of citizens in much better positions than me drove past. We ended up in China Town at 7pm – two hours later than I would have been home had I taken the train home. There I demanded an exit and starting sprinting towards the nearest subway. All I found was a chinese street vendor selling fruit. My hands shook as I pulled two quarters out of my wallet to pay for what looked like an orange tomato – a fruit a friend had told me to try when I got the chance – and I devoured the whole thing before the subway arrived for me.

The curry-ghetti was good too.

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