Nothing Happened Today

postcards home

Hazard Pay

with one comment

The week didn’t start well. Of course, there’s the inevitable heat wave, timed perfectly each year for the two weeks I must run my oven daily at 400˚F. Second, my food processor kind of blew up during my nightly pastry making. The day before that, my 18 year old blender freaked out on me while making ice cream. Both machines are out of warranty and old enough to be going away to college. Both machines are useless right now.

On Monday, during my usual morning ritual of pitting 250 cherries, one cherry fought back. Juice squirted directly into my left eye. By the time the pie was in the oven, the white of that eye had reddened and swollen in the strangest and goriest manner. Half blind, I stumbled out to the subway with the warm pie in my basket. I wedged myself into a seat next to a woman wearing a mildewy something and rode the length of Manhattan to Hell.

The rest of the day went a whole lot better. Harth came by for lunch at the burger place across the street from Hell. He had a vanilla shake, I had a kraut dog. Then we both had pie. Right there in the restaurant. But the staff didn’t seem to mind at all. Harth always gives me great advice about matters of brain health. I wore my sunglasses today at his prompting. We talked about love and sleep and romance and balloons. We talked about his ears a bit.


What the Hamburglar is to hamburgers, Harth is to pie. He had two rather large slices and admitted only decorum kept him from eating the whole thing. He did groom the pie a bit of its shaggy edges before I packed it up again.


After office hours, I went to visit my old friend, Erik of Ludlow Street. He pulled out his beautiful linen napkins and special fancy plates (the ones he keeps safely in his bedroom) in honor of the pie. He amused the pie with stories of bath houses, booth shops and art fairs. Erik is very accomplished at hunting bears and other quarry. We talked about the old days and unresolved figure-ground relationships. Before I knew it, it was late.

Filled up with contentment, I packed up the pie and took it home. It will accompany another pie to Hell on Tuesday.



Written by etinnyo

July 9, 2013 at 1:04 pm

Posted in Art, Food, New York, Pie

One Response

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  1. I love this….thank you

    Erik Hanson

    July 9, 2013 at 1:21 pm

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