Yesterday he spent 11 hours at work, straight up, no lunch break, no goof arounds, not even the imaginary cell phone calls that drag him out of the office every other hour or so. He went home, parked and stayed sitting in his car for an eternity, like 10 minutes, staring at infinity, nothing, pitch black. Pulled out, drove away, with abso-fucking-lutely no destination in mind. On yet another impulse he pulled over by Trader Joe's (the far away one, not the one around the corner) helped the asian old lady unload her cart of Charles Shaw merlots and chardonnays, smiled and walked in. Two hours, $79.53, numerous nutrition facts and two sample bites of caramelized onion on gorgonzola later he could qualify as UN's peace ambassador in Ecuador. Subtly smiling he drove back home, carried his brown bags all the way up to the third floor and opened the fridge, who was certainly excited to see him : it lit up.

He spent the next 3 hours munching on left overs, then downed a Coppola zinfandel and topped it off with some cheap syrah, making room for all the stuff he's almost sure he won't eat, but they make him smile in the morning when he peaks at their happy letters on their shiny labels while taking the milk carton off the bottom shelf.

Half drunk he vacuumed, washed some dishes, did the laundry, even took the trash out. Life, or something like it, is very simple to enjoy, as long as he's not sober.