There’s a farmers market near campus.
A young couple has a pizza oven on a trailer.
They make a breakfast pizza - bacon, mozzarella
some egg and green peppers. It’s SO crispy and delicious.
ALL I had to do this morning was say “breakfast pizza!”
and six of us were ready to head out fifteen minutes later.

Let’s wax poetic, shall we?

There are some young ladies who live in a dorm
sometimes it seems like they only have studies
but once and a while on a Saturday or Sunday
if we have our druthers, we get out, in swarm
and find ourselves some pizza-like brekkie.
.
.
Songs for this:
PIZZA by Oohyo
Le Breakfast Club de Paris by Gabrielle Chiararo

Introducing my roommate Leong to my Saturday morning cartoon binge habit proved to be one of my BEST ideas EVER. She’s a very animated watcher, frequently laughing, gasping in horror and, in the end, delighted by these silly shows.

It’s almost a case for convergent evolution, how two creatures, from opposite ends of culture and the world can be so similar.

I find myself watching her, for her reaction, as much as the shows themselves - I’ve seen them before but I rediscover them vicariously and emotionally through her. We can spend hours dissecting character arcs and plot twists - we’ve found a small, stress-free heaven.

It’s 10:40am Sunday morning and Leong is dipping celery in barbecue sauce for breakfast again. “THAT’s just gross,” I deem, holding my hand up to block my view of this travesty.

“You should TALK,” she says, “Flexatarian!”

I gasped, like a slapped Chris Rock in the face of this naked aggression. “Why am I a Flexatarian! I demand, my mind reeling for context, “because I ordered the potato burrito at taco bell?” I look around for some sort of rescue or validation, but we’re alone.

“That’s so FAUX,” I say, in an injured voice, shaking my head sadly. “I’m by the book carnivore,” I say, holding my fingers in a three-fingered girl scout pledge.

“And you have to live with that trauma,” Leong says, scooping an extra large dollop of sauce with her celery as I make gagging and heaving sounds.

The sweet song of laughter,
Flows into my ears,
The aged red hue of my mates battered baseball boots,
Crosses my wide opened eyes.

A smiles sits painted on my lips,
In every colour of my own personal rainbow,
And my feet dance carelessly,
Across the fields of overgrown grass.

My heart beats fast,
Pound pound pound,
As I skip foward,
Arms locked in my giggle fueled friends.

I feel so free,
Like a bird scraping the horizon,
Like a balloon set loose,
To the endless blue of the daytime skies

We cheep and chirp,
Out our songs of the future,
Days we can truly conquer,
More than our own small worlds

As the sun sets low,
Ink begins to pour out onto our skies,
I sigh happily,
I've fallen in love with my Saturday nights.

There is a
Threat
Outside of bed.
Beyond amber red
Sunsets
People of the night
Come out.
Awaken by the smell
Of repugnant restrooms
And *****.
Last memory of
The inside of
A toilet.
Brought alive by
the frightening
sunrise.
Blinding all
who hid.