Counting down days
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3
Counting down days

Patricia sat gracefully in her tarot reading booth, listening to the new Hozier album while watching people walk by.

She's been in Italy for around two weeks now, and - to her dismay - the Italians don't seem as interested in her antics as she thought they'd be.

"It's gonna be such a great con," she remember telling Sabrina - her best "friend" - the night before she left. "I would earn so much money, and all I have to do is say some random things." "People wanna hear what they wanna hear, and I'll tell them those things. Ya' want a kid? Sure, you'll get a little girl in the future. Ya' want a boyfriend? You'll get one in, uh, let's say the next ten years."

"- Pat, I can think of countless other unethical ways of making money that take much much less effort," Sabrina told her - but she didn't listen.

Patricia never listens.

"Iced oat latte, please," Reggie looked into the eyes of the barista; her hair seemed like it had gone through a lot, ruffled, a bit out of the ordinary. Reggie started wondering what happened. He started wondering ----

"--- That would be 4.05," the barista interrupted Reggie's train of thought, unaware of what she had done.

"Alright," Reg replied, handing her a five-dollar bill. Reg looked sad.

He slowly paced to the counter, pulling up Insta to stalk whatever his ex had posted just a few hours ago. Moments later, his order was done. Reg picked up his drink with one hand while holding his phone with the other. He struggled a bit, moving left and right, to try and stick his straw between his index and middle finger while his phone attempted to block his frivolous actions. Ultimately, though, Reg emerged victorious. He walked a few steps to find a seat, stabbing his straw brutally into his latte while starting to sip away.

So grateful.

Every single day I'm so grateful for the people around me. I know, I know this sounds really cliché, but I seriously adore being with my family, going to get coffee every day, and seeing all the beautifully weird people coming in and out of Starbucks.

Today, while I was writing some essays, an old man came in, raising his voice at an employee about some half-off coupons that didn't make sense to him. He then calmed down a little and talked to me and this other employee about how he can see through our eyes that we are nice people. I don't know how I feel about all that. Maybe intrigue - how surprising some interactions can turn out to be. Maybe fear - how people sometimes just lash out at others in public.

Today is winter solstice. Ma is with grandma, burning paper money to grandpa. I love them so much. We had dumplings today. I ate with mom and dad. It's a good day.

Good night.

“The tree trolls are growing especially well this year,” mother told me as I packed my bag to fly to the mainland. If you don’t know, tree trolls are this native type of animal that grows on trees. They look like koalas but can talk. Yah, I know! crazy. My mom is the world’s best tree troll farmer. She would get fifty of them from a good season’s harvest. “Here, take this to the mainland,” she said while handing a baby tree troll to me. I stuffed her into my suitcase, keeping the zippers open a little bit so that the troll could breathe. I named her Joe. Joe was kinda loud during our trip. “Hey, be quiet,” I said, “we’re going through security.” “Okay,” Joe replied, quietly. The security agent brutally tore open my suitcase, exposing Joe to the public. “What is this?” “A tree troll.” “Cute, have a good day.” “Have a good day.” I smiled and walked away, holding Joe in my left hand, maneuvering the suitcase in my right. “Hey, I love you,” I whispered to Joe. “I love you too,” my baby whispered back.