it’s just me this time, braving a new frontier – sauced up by lucies – on my own. a late dinner, i felt like pasta and someone close had suggested this place not too long ago.

i’d ordered beforehand and was there earlier than expected given the traffic on fareedhee magu. it’s really easy to get an avas cycle now that they’ve hiked prices up to 15 bucks a ride.

on the way here my avas guy was trying to talk to me, but i was in the middle of writing a long text to a PR guy from a resort. my driver (or is it rider?) seemed to have picked me up once before and appeared thrilled to have met me again.

‘you go on rides a lot huh?’ he asked.

‘hmm,’ i said, writing my text.

‘remember? we met last year, i took you to the vilimale ferry terminal.’

‘hmm.’

i should have been more present in the present and let him know that, though i didn’t remember him, i was glad that he remembered me, for it made me almost corporeal in the world of another. wasn’t that a beautiful gift? but i just mumbled ‘thanks’ at the end and transferred him the money, getting a little annoyed that he was telling me his account number two numerals at a time.

so here i am. sauced up is quiet at this time of the day, there is no other diner but me.

a man sits behind the counter, silently. a punk song sounds over the speakers. the interior is red brick and brightly lit and yet there’s a kind of forlornness here that is hard to pinpoint but spread all over. like in a painting by that guy. hopper.

‘it’s almost ready,’ informs my server. she seems to be genuinely interested. should i take the expression at face value?

i sit and contemplate. i feel so much but can articulate so little, making me seem like a caricature in a series of neverending stories that go nowhere. like my life, like maybe most lives.

when the food arrives, it is like a window has opened, letting in a breeze. there’re some greens, and three hefty meatballs.

i dig in, savouring the first bites, the sauce is a bit tangy, not unpleasant with the sharp, savoury cheese while the meatballs shine quietly like demure brown dwarves.

a song comes up – something that reminds me of real estate (the band), if they were twined with neon indian or some vapour wave outfit. it makes me yearn, filled with a longing for the days when there seemed to be something on the horizon, something worth getting out of the bed for besides reading vaguthu.com and loathing myself for it.

‘how’s the food?’ asks the server and i tell her it is really good. if only she understood HOW good it felt to me at that moment but we’re fated to be misunderstood and misinterpreted or at most half known, half forever imprisoned in our hearts. but for now i am present in someone else’s world, and what little i have conveyed means a little flicker of happiness. i want to say something like this but instead i ask:
‘who’s the band?’

‘let me check,’ she responds.

and later: ‘dayglow.’

what a name! a day that glows while today, mine merely glowered.