After doing the “calibration phase” for UFC Trainer, it ranked Gabriel at the beginner level. But Beginner for a mixed martial arts gladiator was not beginner enough to reflect his useless body, and he was punished.
All-Day Breakfast is as much a philosophy as a business policy; the idea isn’t that pancakes are good, and must be eaten. The idea contained within its humming core is that you are the kind of person who might wake up, literally, at any juncture in the day’s twenty-four hour span and thus require the first meal of the “day” even when it is not daytime and is, in fact, its gravest enemy.
After a couple days in Spokane, I generally enter into communion with its odd rhythm, which I resent but prefer to hot war. I’m sentimental to the point of distraction, and like a latter-day shaman I see old spirits writhing in every cranny. They aren’t content to writhe over there, which would be fine. They want to writhe up in my Goddamn marrow. I don’t know what it’s like when you go home. I find it more or less indistinguishable from pain.
I couldn’t tell you how many strips we wrote at Kay’s Teriyaki Plus, it’s not a number, it’s some dancing shape whose dancing contains encoded data. It’s possible to eat at a restaurant with such great regularity that you know the owners; you may not know that there is a point beyond that where you go so often it’s actually kind of weird.
That’s Gabe’s first apartment (they stole all his CDs, he replaced them, they stole them again) there’s Merlyn’s (i knew thieves who would take “orders” from the store, and “sell” at a “discount”) Northtown “Mall” (nothing so much as a kind of retail mausoleum) the coffee shop where I wooed Brenna (a dance hall) the coffee shop where I met Brenna (no longer exists).