Home

There's a young woman in the green Hess booth, in a black suit and a white shirt. She's 25 and has a Ricky Ricardo haircut, jelled shiny black. She's smoking a cigar, while running the gas station. Locked in for the day, she's surrounded by skyscrapers of soda, cigarettes and potato chips. She only has to talk to one person at a time, through a microphone, protected by glass. As life should be.

I walk by and stop at Jamie's shop to buy bananas, onions and celery. I buy a softball sized lump of ground pork and another of ground beef and decide to use my last loaf of stale bread to make a gigantic meat loaf in my 12" skillet. I already have a pound of carrots, Worcestershire sauce, and ketchup. I chop and stir with a frenzy. The loaf is in the oven and bakes for 50 minutes. I bake for my husband. When the house smells good it is home.