The Replies Book

Chewing doing nothing.

Once upon a time doing nothing about so many things was an option, in fact the usual option.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

Sometimes.

Trying to stop the grains of sand accumulating to the tipping point of avalanche-like collapse is laudable but it’s demanding too much.

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The smell of vinegar burning like salt on an open wound.

I was cleaning the kitchen floor.

Strong vinegar does in part, the job bleach might otherwise accomplish.

It is disinfecting and cleansing.

Puts me off vinegar-flavored potato chips.

Nostrils feeling like they’ve been sand-papered and scratched…yes, really!

Perhaps a scented floor cleaner would be a treat.

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Syndicated privacy and sideways swipes.

The core of a glance uninterpreted.

Twixt the shadow and the other penumbra, there lay the true recipe.

A map, a treasure, X marks the spot, a frying pan heated too hot.

Besotted by miniscule ripples in the middle of a smile.

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Soap.

The new bar.

Fragrant and imposing.

Sure to help keep you away from the germs you wish to reject.

A gift. Wrapped and packaged to look like a picnic basket.

Something like this seems so dated, old-fashioned and so much a thing of the past.

Yet countless small businesses call soap their home, their product.

It’s everywhere!

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Slick and modern, like a Le Corbusier-infused idea of a homely cottage.

In other words, sleek meets comfy.

That was how this restaurant felt.

Ideal for meeting friends after 39 months without seeing, sensing or talking.

But we’re such good communictors, and we started at opening and left after closing.

This is not about architecture, physical design, or food.

It’s all about conversation.

The volley and vigor of intelligence strainining at the edges like a winning athlete’s workout.

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