Lots of Monkeys

And some mornings, I find myself in an upscale bodega.

Seated at a bar in that upscale bodega, and midway through a butter croissant and a soy flat white.

And thinking about how good it is and how on some level, I connect more with my father than I ever did when he was alive.

Short for the summer.

I used to undervalue how much better a good haircut made me feel.

I’ll reveal the location sometime.

I want to book this restroom for self portraits forever. Didn’t see the hair on my face until later, but this lighting!

How much can you do on a phone, is a question I love trying to answer. Old me, pre web me is freaking out right now.

This is some serious cyber punk stuff here, on a device the size of an old Nestle Crunch bar, and I’m using it to post a picture of Trader Joe’s dried mango.

But these take me back to eighth grade and the first time I had candy from Mexico. I’m on the blacktop playground in my school uniform, trying to figure what this powder in these plastic bags everyone was downing. This how was introduced to Pico, and it’s spicier tio, Tico. From there I branched out and tried other candies.

Among those was the mango flavored lollipop covered in spice. My closest guess would be a vero elote mango chili pop. Could be that candymaker is no more, lost forever in a vague haze of childhood.

So these–these taste like that particular memory, if you’re into that.