Urbane.

Still boggled by Big City living.  Small victories, though–en route to Trader Joe’s for my weekly groceries (which I carry home on the subway in a mondo backpack, turtle-style) not one but two separate groups of people asked me for directions, and I was able to give semi-helpful responses.  Magnificent Mile and the Pavilion, so not rocket science, but still.  Slowly but surely I stop feeling like a city idiot.  Now I just need to get mugged, and I’ll feel right at home.

Food scores: more baby quiches, chocolate croissants, fried rice ingredients and a jug of OJ (I must kick this cold, stat).  Now if that horrific storm rocking Flagstaff decides to head east, I won’t starve to death.

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