I got the enchilada and taco combo platter, mom got a cheeseburger, we talked about growing up with 12 brothers and sisters, how turning thirteen meant you got your own room, what an extraordinary prize, can you even imagine?

I met B. in my old neighborhood, it’s already my old neighborhood, and we had the lunch special and then cups of coffee and talked and talked and talked and the woman next to us was considering library school so we talked and talked and talked about that until I really had to go, I had a haircut scheduled. A really nice lunch, a lunch special, even.

Once I decided I’d hold onto my apartment until the mortgage came through I calmed down a little bit, enough to have a cheerful rant about the price of the tacos. But my taco was good, the ceviche better, the company best of all.

I’ve watched so much Toddlers & Tiaras that ordering a burrito supreme sounds like I’m granting some giant prize. I’ve also flown Delta from Detroit to LaGuardia so many times that I knew just what my options work at the A70 gates, and that Taco Bell was pretty much the best I could do. I ate in my seat as the flight boarded.

I met T. and E. at the taco place for lunch specials before they fly off back to Canada and J. flies in to take their place. Tongue taquitos were the special of the day. I like specials, but that was more than I could handle.

I was so tired I curled up on K.’s couch and took a nap and then the cat came and curled up and napped with me and that was a cat nap. By the time I woke up to say goodbye to K. there was just time to gram and fold the laundry and then run around the corner and grab a taco and grits before pick up. The guys sitting next to me were talking about the marathon. Is anything else going on?

I ran six miles as fast as I could and then spent the rest of the day eating. Out of all that food I’d call the taco and grits the closest to lunch, hot meal in the late afternoon, reading for class, plans with my sweetie for later.

You know I’ve reached a new level of dejection when even the carne asada tacos don’t wrench me out, set me right. But I was worried about what to buy at the grocery store to eat, whether I’d make it home before the rain, whether this was just the new world as it would now always be, would K.’s nausea ever ease.

I met B. at the taco place by my house and the lunch special menu was different. B. and I both still got what we usually get, but the menu looked different. It felt like there were fewer choices even though I think ultimately that wasn’t true. B.’s worried about middle school next year, middle school’s tough, the world’s tough.

I sat on a bench in the park where I run half my runs, eating a tuna taco between the Brooklyn Bridge where I won’t set foot and the Manhattan Bridge which is my favorite, thinking about Saturday’s race in the park where I run the other half of my runs, in the neighborhood where I have lived for sixteen years, it’s home, it really is. It was not bad there under the sun, artisanal crisp-rice taco shell cracking in my hand, a cover band singing Bon Jovi. Is it Saturday yet? I should have gotten the short ribs.