I hear the soft jangle of a charm bracelet (wind chimes?) as I drive my car. The woman who sits next to me (there are two, one in the backseat) doesn't seem to notice. I cock my head, squint my eyes. What is it?
Then I realize the sound is the ethereal peal of a hearing aid. It rings, its notes trilling up and down like alien communication.
I'm making another meal. Another god forsaken dinner. This is what I sound like in my head: "Okay, I have to zest a fucking lemon. Fuck, the grater is dirty in the sink. I'll just give it a quick rinse. Wait, was raw chicken in here last night? Now I have to wash it. Boil the water. Get the corn going. Shit, I still need to shuck it. It looks old, it looks rotten. DAMN it. Still need to zest the fucking lemon..."
The food. It is so tiresome.
At least I have the music of the hearing aid to distract me.
Sneaking my wine, sneaking my internet. Bad hostess. Bad.
I drop off the two women at Pier 55 for their boat ride. I watch as they shuffle up to the booth to buy their tickets. They are so darling. So willing.
The car is so quiet.