So I went around ping-ponging AMONG malls scouring for my next addiction. Well more like a next diversion. See, yet again I crashed and burned and am frustratingly back to square what and I rightfully deserve a break. Pant. That is, a break before the next tragedy. Pant, pant.

Do you ever pay sincere attention to section labels in bookstores? Or do you just take advantage the overfriendly salespersons and simply, for fear of exhaustion, ask for copies of that book (the author of which has an entire shelf to himself, you just don’t know where, either because the bookstore is another country for you or you’re unsure exactly how ’sci-fi’ differs from ‘fiction’). I had my desperate, wrecked senses on card reading—yes that’s how screwed up I am—and so presumably I wanted something equally consuming. “Excuse me, where is the New Age section?”

“Second shelf, cornermost row.” And me without my map.

“‘Cornermost’? Could you point me to the exact spot? I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“There.” But that’s the exit.

“These are the only decks left available. Would you like me to check in our next nearest branch?” in another store. A few minutes later, resisting the urge to stick the Pod to my nose instead, I was strutting to the neighbor mall…

How to Heal Yourself. Help Is On Its Way. The Best Bandaid. His Words, Your World.

“This is your Fiction section?” There was a baffling nod, followed by my full-conviction Are You Fucking Kidding Me.

But at least there was some fun to it. It’s not everyday you witness bare honesty. While burning bills and calories.

So, anyway, the pork: Meat has always been, is and will forever be a good stress reliever. Especially after near-bankruptcy. Now enough panting.