Evening

Eating samosa yesterday, aloo with the amchur taste. When we eat things, over many times, at different places, the sameness of the encounter of a familiar food on the buds, builds on and you havent had the samosa just that one time but over years, the affair has been going on, reliving it each time.
At the end of it, we would have had a huge samosa like the big biscuit ad of a car insurance company. Like how a bunch of candles fuse into one in the heat. In an imaginary funeral rite, it would be a mighty bolillo roll and a half chewed milk truck. Add to the list,Giant apple, orange like Roald Dahl's cherry.
Talking of which, a limo followed by many cars flashing their hazard lights on the highway, was the first time I saw it being used as the exit chariot.

Many Loves, a poem by Allen Ginsberg sung on A prairie Home Companion.

Seraphine