I kept meaning to go to the store yesterday for some food, glorious food, but in between reading Perec and Malherbe and Molière, there sure wasn’t a moment. So this morning I would really like some strawberries and yoghurt dusted with cinnamon powder, and maybe a little egg, and what I have is Goya coffee and the last heely bits of a weekold loaf of sourdough. Also, a fridge-drawerful of cheese leftover from the party. Oh, how the cheese has the last laugh.