INVERSE VANDALISM

Long days of highly organized missions in the big white van.
Lists of lists of things to move from place to place.
Like a moving bibliography full of notebooks
and lots of lost writing utensils,
the van hunkers through through the misty morning
towards the next trivial assignment.
Lost in thought, the mercenary's mind has switched to autopilot.
Four appendages moving in sync with a beastly machine
that twists through the narrow avenues
of the moistened crypt of antiquities
like a long white wraith.

When the day is nearly done, money is exchanged for goods at the local market
and the bounty is whisked away
to a hidden lair buried deep in the heart of the Lower Garden District.
Our hero, still unaware of his surroundings unpacks and sorts the groceries.
Two hours later, the aroma of finely prepared cuisine startles him into being.

Ham with chayotes! (or mirliton it's called down here)
A pot of perfectly seasoned redbeans.
Tofu dusted with Morroccan seasoning and some sort of thrown together sauce.

Looks and smells fantastic. Did I do this? Was I zoning in some sort of artistic dreamstate?
I can barely remember work today. Well, I'm used to it guess. I found a reciept and assume that I went to the store. Wow. I don't normally eat ham, but this one was half price!
Did I cook all this stuff just because? I'm not even that hungry! Weirdness. I suppose I'll snap a quick picture of it and put it in the fridge. No, I'll wait. I think I'll mosey on down to the Half Moon and grab a drink first....