The first person to take me to eat the night after Marybeth died in Houston was Albert Rojas. Ironically, he was the first person to join me to eat in my Panama tenement. Amidst the ironing board, laundry and dozens of term papers, I fixed sesame snapper in a sort of sundried tomato sauce...with salad and platanos tentacion...he politely said it was good....we talked for a few minutes...listened to the bullhorns and deisel bus engines outside the window, and he left. It felt strange, but ok. Empty but correct...pleasant for the hour I had company, and then very lonely...but I guess it was an important social occasion enroute back to the worldof the pseudo normal...
Posted on: Mon, 24 Jun 2013 03:16:33 +0000