Hamburger Sandwich

I was telling my friend Alex about the mysteries of these Los Angeles relationships. The way people just fade in and fade out of your life. The way you eventually don't fight it anymore. In his typically eloquent fashion, he said:

...it's interesting to hear you describe the way LA people enter and exit life like some kind of social ebb and flow. That's a pattern I'm very familiar with here in the big smoke if it's any consolation. Doubtful, but sometimes I feel like this joint is just a giant airport and people you might trick yourself into believing friends are really just being polite to kill the time before they make their way to their destination...

He is something, n'est-ce pas? And "the big smoke" means London. If he made that up, I'll build him a shrine. He closed that paragraph by saying, "Suffice it to say, London's cold and I don't mean winter." I guess I'm learning that the name of the city in that sentence is irrelevant. It could be anywhere. It's the heat that rises. The cold stays on you. And it stays and stays and stays.

I fried a turkey burger and now I may as well be one for the way I smell. I do so shrink from food smells on my skin and in my hair. When a nose comes close to my neck, I would prefer it to find a sweeter scent there. This is probably the only reason I never took up smoking in my reckless youth. In high school, my oral fixation was legendary. I could tell you that, by that, I mean I used to chew on my pencils, but you're going to read into it what you're going to read into it. And that's just fine.