llorando

This afternoon I went into the town of Middlebury and searched in vain for a place where I could get an eggs benedict sandwich. I found it acutely disappointing that I couldn’t indulge in this exceptional breakfast sandwich that ranks among the finest pleasures of my life. It occurred to me that this is something that warrants chagrin and malaise, and not all the other stupid shit I write about. Anyway, I settled for a chicken salad sandwich and a coffee, which in the end wasn’t so bad, but all the same a certain empty feeling stuck with me.

While sitting outside, I realized how closely Middlebury resembles the town in Blue Velvet (obviously my entry from last night was in mind). If the parties were a little crazier and lasted a little longer and if people used obscure drugs, and most of all if some of the characters here sang Roy Orbison songs at the karaoke nights, it’d be really damn close. I wonder if there is a French version of “Crying”?