April I walk through the rundown neighborhood to the rundown neighborhood market to buy a bottle of soy sauce. Soy sauce for the dinner I was preparing to make. Because I forgot to buy it earlier when I was at the grocery store. Earlier, when the sun was warm and bright and the dirty snow shone with drops of water held suspended for a shimmer of a moment only to fall and be replaced by another quivering globe of bright shimmering melting. But now, it's later. I walk past dirty snowbanks, refrozen. Dirty puddles filmed with ice. Old bags and discarded papers catch in the wind like tails or wings. The gray pink early spring sky that earlier had offered warmth like a kindness cools as the sun slides smoothly away like the well manicured regretful wave of a newly wed princess leaving the balcony and the adoring crowds below. Inside the dirty little store, smells sweet, oily, smells of boiled coffee. Stale cigarette vapors off the jacket of...
"You say weird like it's a bad thing."