About my evening

A squat hispanic woman chased me down the street at 7 p.m. "I have a par-CELL paper for you." "Excuse me?" I said. "A box. A par-CELL. I donno what it is. They keep duhlivering the slip to my apartment." I was several buildings away so I motioned to where I reside and I said, "A package for me there?" And she responded yeah. I said, "On the sixth floor?" And she told me, yeah, I live in 6C. Well, hola ma petite voisine. I had never seen her before, only heard the Law and Order episodes and the new Mariah Carey album blaring, had her daughters and nieces shave another fifty years off my life every time they use the fire escape to move between floors and I see their neon tube tops and matching eyeshadow appear in my window. Obviously the entire familia could recognize me, but I find it nonetheless disconcerting, or like Jerry in that Seinfeld episode with the polaroids. And the package wasn't for me, since I don't get mail. There was also this:

me: god i am a lettuce snob
i bought dole bag lettuce bc i was being cheap and it was on sale 2 for $5
9:11 PM
and i've been forcing myself to eat it for days
amie: yea its gross
9:12 PM
me: it's almost over
and i got a box of the good stuff waiting for me