On Saturday I went to the park to read a book and discovered a young woman sitting in the grass straight-up sobbing for a good ten minutes.

Afterward I walked up the street, passing two guys in their 50s playing basketball in a driveway. The ball got away from them, and one guy went after it, while the second made small talk with me. "Hi! How are you? Nice weather." I agreed that it was very nice weather. Then, as I continued to walk away, he said, "Don't get yourself killed." I immediately & without batting an eye agreed that I would try not to.

It turned out that he was actually talking to his friend, who had chased the basketball into the street, but still. That's what the week was like. I am more than willing and happy to accept wishes that I not die from a random person on the street.

I don't have a whole lot to say about food today. I transplanted the tomatoes a few days ago: Boxcar Willie and Caspian Pink. I stood around drinking Modelo and weeding and watering for a good chunk of the weekend. The jasmine is still in bloom. Overripe oranges keep falling off the tree, and I find them on the ground, smashed, half-eaten, and filled with ants.

Last night we made tacos. Onion, carrot, jalapeno, black bean; long-grain brown rice; chopped lettuce and grape tomato; corn tortillas charred over the flame; hot sauce. I put cream cheese on mine, because that was the cheese we had in the house. Later, for a midnight snack (ok, a 9:30 snack), I charred one more tortilla, filled it with leftover beans and cheese, folded it in half, and set it to toast over the gas. It was warm and tasty and comforting, and I ate it and played some puzzle games and went to bed.