pay for my breakfast with the ‘emergency’ credit card from my dad and asked them to wrap up the leftovers of my fruit salad as a doggy bag. not a very exciting lunch, but i am grateful for it.
i am starting to drip and as i wait for the light to turn i look at the little brown paper bag in my hand. the doggy bag is dripping too. “my baggy is all soggy,” i think and feel a bit sorry for it. i don’t even know where this thought and the pity i feel for the ‘baggy’ comes from. after all, unlike me, the doggy bag cannot feel the 