Today I bought some organic beets for one euro ninety nine.

Then I went for a sort-of-like-coffee-sort-of thing.

There, I told some inappropriate stories about tweezing out ticks to make sure the heads were removed, cause otherwise, you know, it gets infected, and you risk encephalitis.

Afterwards, I walked to my bicycle, swinging my beets around in their paper bag, whistling to myself like Cinderella in that Disney movie where all the birds come land on her shoulder and stuff.

This would have all been great except I realized, suddenly, that I was going home to cook up some beets that I will eat all by myself, probably in front of the computer screen.

And that the highlight of my night will be drawing some shitty cartoons and maybe smoking some hash.

Which made me feel pretty lonely and sad.

And I felt as though I should have been incarnated in some Nick Hornby novel, eventually to be played, in a summer rom-com blockbuster, by John Cusack or Hugh Grant.

Only, they always get the girl.

And girls are not into me. Trust me. I know.

Anyways, I ate the beets and they were okay. Needed more salt, though.