Keeping with the tan and black and white theme.

Avocado, olive oil, Maldon salt, and flakes of seaweed.

Only music this time.

I let the beauty of it all envelope me. I think I could be happy here.

I ask for the name of the ceramicist. “TBD,” she says. “Are you a potter?” “In my dreams,” I say. “I will be old and gray and in a cabin by the ocean.” “Manifest that.” “I will.”

All this and a Bic pen.

I could eat chips and salsa all day.

I watch the temperature climb as I head north. 70 degrees in the parking garage. 75. Then 78. 81. 85.

Of course, I am doing walk-up music.

All I can think about is how much fun it could be if this was happening for basketball too.