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六日九月

I hadn’t much considered this day before. Here it is, afresh for no competition: September 6^th is a day that I’m embraced for an extended duration on Pennsylvania Avenue in Kansas City, crying and wearing pink lipstick, by both my mom and dad, in that order.

I am eating leftovers from Thursday night’s dinner, sitting writing at a table inside Union Station’s main concourse. The dinner is ribeye steak, now wilted greens, saffrom rice, and sweet potatoes dressed in a red basil and sesame pesto. It’s served in an old camping Tupperware, a thick, light hunter colored plastic with radial ridges decorating the underside of the lid. The plastic silverware is a gift from our take-out Thai food last night, and the peach, banged up to the point of being brown, I scored last Saturday near the end of farmers’ market after someone had forgotten a bag of them on the Southwest side of the square.

The station is dim. I take a photo of the chandelier and my table.