Sunday Funday

Having spent Saturday driving, we packed our Sunday with a list of places.

Our first stop: bao’s, doughy steamed buns, stuffed with pork belly and katsu chicken and purple cabbage. After circling around the park, avoiding a sketchy parking lot, we secured a spot on a hill, a perfect view of the city. Sitting on lawn chairs, we munched on our baos and peered at the skyline. The sun beat down on us. I played Hunnybee. We returned to a petty ticket.

Later, we drove over to a historic neighborhood. When I looked up, I recognized the person getting into her car. She was someone I’d grown up with, an acquaintance, a girl with a raspy voice- it had been almost fifteen years since I’d seen her. Here we were, miles away from home. Huh. Like that one time I went into the city and looked up and saw my 5th grade best friend walking to work. Glitches in the matrix. What were the odds?

Then we explored a vinyl records store. I wanted to ask what song the store was playing, but didn’t. It was something instrumental and jazzy. It began to rain.

Down the street was a South American crafts shop. Shelves were lined with Frida’s face and Selena’s bio and and Guatemalan hats. It had a distinctly marketplace feel. There were theatre masks. Mother Mary memorabilia.

I pointed my new Fujifilm camera at anything and everything, fiddling with the in-camera recipes until they were just right. I settled on some variation of Kodachrome for the heavy shadows and contrast. All of these images are directly from the camera – also known as SOOC (straight-out-of-camera) in the photo community. I feel special writing that: the photo community. 

We drove off to a modern art museum and place of prayer, a well-known destination for both tourists and locals. There seemed to be a wall between the sanctuary and the neighborhood: when you crossed the median, there was a cloud of peace. The prayer room felt heavy, though. I thought about it, and realized that people likely went during times of distress: to pray for miracles, to pray for healing. The distress seemed bottled up, and we quickly left.

Outside, the sun crept from behind the clouds. Beneath a sprawling tree was a group, maybe meditating. The weather toasted up, so we retreated back to the car.

We lightened up with watermelon boba and headed back, where we played video games, ate a light dinner, and settled in. Normally accustomed to our own rooms and bathrooms and sides of the house, sharing a room initially felt very Camp Sleepover, until we realized, with some dismay, that the room lacked robust air conditioning. Which meant the rapid transference of body heat (“get off my side!”) which escalated into wrastling, which we found I was rather good at, in an improvised chokeholdy way. We later discussed my promising hypothetical career in MMA, or Mixed Martial Arts.


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