I’m on the train this morning when I start paying attention to what I’m thinking. It goes like this, “Picante picante picante picante picante.” I must have read it on a sign somewhere.

After noting that my at-rest mental processes are those of a five year old, I start thinking of other words that stick in my head:

gouache

Donahue

torpor

punctilio

albondigasThat last one is the spanish word for meatballs. Albondigas, albondigas, albondigas.

4:43 p.m.