Feijoada

Feijoada
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

Flashbacks

“They’re real,” she impressed into me, digging her shiny white nails into my forearm.

Burberry lingers, clinging to my jacket, entrenching itself into my memory, lingering much like cannabis blocks adenosine from binding—leaving one wondering why he feels so empty, and yet, rife with the desire to be overflowingly fulfilled again.

After many years of frivolously expending my youth, I’m learning that pure pleasure comes in the simplest forms: hearty food, heavy wine, good company, great sex, and the freedom to leisurely enjoy them all.

Occasionally, I’m startled out of my office-stupor by sudden images of mouths full-of-me and tongues lapping endearingly, silhouettes writhing in the back seat of yellow taxicabs speeding down the West Side Highway, two souls wrestling in the synaptic gap between deferred gratification and pressing desire.

Definitely, Good Times were had with JJ; One of my most cherished memories will long be the cherub faces looking up at me as I read Stone Soup to Nicky’s kindergarten class; yes, the greatest pleasures in life are often the simplest—sombra e água fresca; Feijoada com uma gatinha, uma menina trilegal—com certeza! Pra caramba!

And, yes, white rice was the better choice.