I’m sitting at my computer right now, vibrating slightly from all the sugar in the cup of gelato I just ate. I am floored that it is already Thursday night, with less than 75 minutes to go until Friday.
I’ve been going non-stop for the last seven days, every crevice of my last full week before I go on vacation shoe-horned with family dinners, meals prepared by bloggers, coffee dates with friends in the Square and late night gelato encounters with my recently departed temporary roommate and her mother. I’m moments away from heading to bed, but first a story I’ve been meaning to tell for four days.
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I spent all of Monday morning craving falafel. I don’t know what brought on the longing for fried balls of chickpea dough dressed with yogurt and tahini, but the desire was persistent and demanding enough that I put aside the lunch I had brought (a frozen chicken masala meal from Trader Joe’s) and walked a couple of blocks to Magic Carpet, the much-beloved vegetarian Penn food truck. I stood in line for 25 minutes, waiting for a turn in front of the grizzled aging hippie who stands in the south window. He handed me the bag with my falafel, and even almost smiled as he did it. I’ve found that there’s something about my face that makes even the most grizzled, grumpy ex-hippies crack a smile occasionally.
I walked up into the heart of campus, thinking I would find a bench in the shade to sit by myself and eat my lunch, when an internal tug made me look to my left. In front of the Fine Arts Library sat my friend Nikyia by herself, in the spot where our Unitarian girls lunch club meets on Tuesdays. I walked over to her, as if I knew she would be there waiting for me all along, and when she looked up, she didn’t seem at all surprised to see me. We discussed the wedding we had both been at the previous Saturday, talked about dating (or really the fact that neither of us are currently doing it) and had a lovely, impromptu lunch together.
It was treat of an experience. (And the sandwich really hit the spot).