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For me I choose the Chipotle on Flushing. It feels “bettering” to associate the pleasures of food with the outward chaos of the various schoolchildren and hospital dischargees. When I first began living more slowly, I used to think all my pleasures had to be the things I engaged in privately. This is, I’m pretty sure, a condition of “the times”; whereas long ago you went to the river to read your books and write your letters, now the crapfeed has rendered “bettering” pastimes obsolete, reconfiguring the pleasure-association completely. “Dinner” is a somewhat contemporary casualty of this phenomenon. It’s been swiped by meal delivery services such as the rapidly propagating stain on social progress that is “Factor Meals,” such that the simple notion of “having supper alone next to other people alone” has basically become counter-culture. I hate Factor Meals so much. I hate Factor Meals so fucking much. I recently made a five minute vlog about this. Factor Meals has made the simple fact of a shared meal, all but necessitated since we were still in the marsupial stage of things, embarrassing. Not for the recomposed, though. Nope, we will “go there.” We will engage in social pleasures outside of our sanitized homes and learn to find them exactly that — completely pleasurable.
There’s this new category of “core” videos I’ve recently become acquainted with, and its dedicated to “early Starbucks.” I’m not kidding; people are mass-hallucinating the death of a franchise that had its highest grossing quarter yet just this past year. Why? Because they are stunned stupid at the thought of entering a Starbucks —now deemed, fairly ubiquitously, no better than a public prison latrine adhering to the governance established in The Purge — and taking out a novel, and just sitting. It’s harrowing.
These people on Broadway and Flushing engaging in shared meal are my brethren, and yours, and sometimes we share a little smile over a plastic forkful of bag chicken across the tin, and in doing so catapult all the way to somewhere from our past. The world in a few years will be a series of sanitized capsule pods, is the thing, and we The Reformed will be scuttling around Broadway until we find a Sonic with the lights still on yes we will.
There’s this new category of “core” videos I’ve recently become acquainted with, and its dedicated to “early Starbucks.” I’m not kidding; people are mass-hallucinating the death of a franchise that had its highest grossing quarter yet just this past year. Why? Because they are stunned stupid at the thought of entering a Starbucks —now deemed, fairly ubiquitously, no better than a public prison latrine adhering to the governance established in The Purge — and taking out a novel, and just sitting. It’s harrowing.
These people on Broadway and Flushing engaging in shared meal are my brethren, and yours, and sometimes we share a little smile over a plastic forkful of bag chicken across the tin, and in doing so catapult all the way to somewhere from our past. The world in a few years will be a series of sanitized capsule pods, is the thing, and we The Reformed will be scuttling around Broadway until we find a Sonic with the lights still on yes we will.
Feb 25, 2026