Cooked a breakfast of sautéed onions and Dinosaur kale over a warmed up baked potato, with one fried egg on the side dotted in Tabasco sauce. A new country breakfast I called it. My neighbor who called to me from the other side of the small courtyard to inquire about my breakfast said that was a stretch. Are you a vegetarian? he asked. No, I replied. It’s California meets Southern cooking then. He shrugged. I sat on my little porch that’s not much of a porch really, just a small square dirt patch with a few tufts of grass remaining, covered in fall leaves moreover—I staked it out as mine with the landing here of a plastic Adirondack chair and matching table I purchased at Lowe’s. A little patch all to myself. I suppose, I couldn’t have had a more peaceful and complete breakfast. I looked to the sky, and acknowledged the blue shelter that is the shelter above my home; and the day that is mine. This is perhaps my best porch here.
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R.I.P. Mark Linkous. Thank you.