8 February 2011. Sunny, but still February... Large youth with smooth cheeks, stubble chin, orders pack of Marlborough (some other detail included) and a Gizmo (wrong name) lottery ticket. His beautiful, narrow-faced lady sitting outside, half-light, in seat of waiting SUV...
Mo in the aisles amidst boxes of Peeble-O's. Mary-Lou's and Granny Pokes (invented inventory--products from the American heartland). Manager and stocking clerk. "Also cashier..." "But your customers love you..." Eyebrows raised...
Maybe a gift instead. The Year of the Rabbit, for example, or Atchafalya, for Princess N (yesteday), with elaborate note about Tolstoy's description of Pierre Bezukhov, and how the word "tolstoj" has been tendentiously translated.. (After seeing the plump English ceramic alligator on N's side table.) The available paths--we don't even choose them. More a matter of saying no...or, better, yes...
This morning. Master Po. That phrase of his. "What's the use." Or was it James Wright's? Either way, it's pure Po Chü-I. Neither fatalism nor resignation. More a kind of whistful delight in the present. What better reward...?
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