Today’s soundtrack: you're afraid to pay the fee
Today at 9:02pm: rolling my eyes at a histrionic cashier



I kicked Miranda in the elbow, slugged Eric in the back and got punched in the nose by Franz. My foot is killing me from that elbow hit and my nose is somewhat discolored. I get sloppy when I’m gassed, which is when all of these things happened. In future I ought not take three classes in a row and conclude them with a sparring session.

My instinct is to stay off the foot, particularly since I have to teach again tomorrow, but I was craving panini after class so I limped over to Pepe Rosso’s on Sullivan. Called ahead so it would be ready.

On Broome I passed the Sunrise Mart (Japanese supermarket with café seating) where I often buy hot coffee in a can. Have you tried it? I love it. They heat the cans up in this special anti-refrigerator. Used to drink this stuff all the time when I was living over there. I don’t even really like the taste, but I drink it now to remind me of then. It’s funny how the smallest, most innocuous moment can turn into a kind of profound mnemonic flashpoint later.

Passing Sunrise I happened to look inside and see a familiar shaved head sitting at one of the tables. He was hunched over a hot tea, and looking the way one looks after a long day at the office or several hours in the gym. I backtracked and walked inside.

“What’s up, killer.”

Lam looked up, slightly dazed. My guess is he just came from the gym. “Hey,” he said. “What’re you doing here?”

“Heading over to Pepe Rosso’s to pick up my dinner,” I said. “You gonna be here for ten minutes?”

“Do your thing,” he said, making that frenetic Chinese gesture that looks like you’re sweeping crumbs away from you with your fingertips.

So I went and picked up the chow. Ever been to Pepe Rosso’s? The counterguy is totally surly. Usually that’s a sign that the food is fucking awesome (people treat you like shit when they know they can get away with it), but the pasta here, while okay by New York standards, ain’t gonna change your life. I normally wouldn’t come here but it’s the only panini within range.

Sandwich in the bag, I limped down Sullivan. When I take my first step it looks like I’m trying to swagger with some gangsta lean, but my truncated second step gives it away as an injury.

Back at Sunrise Lam was going through the grocery section. “Can you help me pick out some seaweed?”

I looked at the brands, they had about ten varieties, and picked the one that said $1.29 on the price tag. “Can’t beat the price.”

“Do you know the difference between brands?”

What am I, Jacques Cousteau? “The hell should I know.”

He selected one different from the one I’d chosen and paid for it. I got some enoki and we sat down at the tables in front.

Wound up getting into a long conversation about wimmen. Sometimes you talk about broads and it’s like taking an architecture course--there’s history to be considered, and some practical concerns to be addressed but it’s mostly theory.

I’m usually careful not to type things like “broads” in here because although that’s the way I talk, I worry strangers reading this will take it the wrong way. Well, so much for that. Take it how you want. Censoring yourself is bad and ultimately pointless. I used to write a column for a website and no matter how innocuous I thought the subject matter, I’d frequently receive nasty e-mails from conclusion-jumping malcontents. Whaddaya gonna do.