I drove on the bleak streets of the city, a cool breeze in my face, meditating on senescence and the universe, on my way to a feast.
I drove fast, recklessly, slaloming past cars and buses and bewildered people, undaunted by potential demise – a glorious ride toward absolute enlightenment, in this life or the next.
I demolished Nietzschean concepts, decoded ancient Sumerian scrolls, and developed a new philosophy of critical thinking – and so much more – in my mind, on a speeding scooter.
I plowed through a gypsy at a crosswalk and he might be dead, I don’t know. I don’t even care; a small price to pay – his sacrifice – for my absolute enlightenment.
I arrived at the feast reborn, a man greater than God.
I saw on my table seared pork chops and hasselback butternut squash and coconut oats; sourdough bread and lamb moussaka; strawberry ice cream; steamed Basmati rice and Wuhan dumplings; sushi burritos and roasted cherry tomatoes and colivă; baked beans, chorizo pasta; Dijon mustard; vanilla cheesecake and creamy mushroom soup and deep-fried onion rings; banana muffins, lunettes de Romans; Mexican chili sauce and garlic aïoli and gluten-free noodles; and jugs of raw milk and elderberry juice and red wine and I was pleased.
I toasted to my absolute enlightenment and I began to feast.
