I was just talking to a potential client about a project that could be pretty exiting. She asked if we could meet over breakfast burritos at Cafe Shane. I think she might try and pay me in home fries.
[ interruption* ]
She also asked why we haven’t posted to this site recently. Here’s a hint: breakfast burritos are known in some cultures as 4:30pm-itos. The desire for their deliciousness seems to be linked with circadian rhythms. I want one now, but unfortunately, they’re only served until 4 o’clock. Maybe subconsciously I can hear the sizzle in the kitchen settle to a quiet, a silent reminder of what I’ve missed. Maybe I need to discuss a system of pre-orders with the staff at Cafe Shane.
* I was interrupted while writing this post. An army of confusion just passed my office.
A woman on a loud speaker has been slowly moving down the street toward my end. She insists: “games and free cotton candy, we’ll pick you up and drive you home.” She’s not yelling, but it’s very loud. She offers this over and over again.
A yellow truck comes into view. The side says “the country’s largest sunday school” and something-something Ministries. There she is on the back of the truck, still insisting she’ll pick me up. She’s standing there waving with Spider man, some repitile, and a bunny. “Free cotton candy and we’ll bring you back home.” Somehow, I don’t trust that last promise.
There’s an army of people on the sidewalks. A dozen or two dozen have been streaming by, handing out flyers. They want more children like I want breakfast burritos. By the time you read this, they probably will have them all.
Though this roving carnival that offers the study of god in exchange for cotton candy interrupted my writing, my desire for shane’s breakfast burrito remains. It’s a testament to their enduring power, the universal truth they embody.
