Market Food

Yesterday
Awake, fumbling with toothpaste and age Jack spits the night down the drain and splashes and lashes cold reality onto his face wrinkled and real. Midday breakfast at the market, constant hum of voice and cooking food, fans blowing the smell of fried eggs and ham and laughter and your order's up, it's $11 for three meals and drinks. A short dog beneath the table which hosts a tub filled with onions pickled and hot and a small plate of salt that everyone dips their fingers into.
Today
Weakened from the market food, Jack shitting and puking the night long and now hides in the shade.