I told him about the man I saw in Boston airport. The man who I’d seen earlier working in the stationers in the concourse, and was then on his lunch break. A lunch, that is, which consisted of white rice, that he was eating out of a tupperware container. I took it as a symbol of poverty, that that was all there was. Perhaps I was wrong to that. Possibly he liked rice and was content. He appeared to eat it with gusto. I too am to eat rice for the meantime. I like it too. Though brown not white. But while I stay the fast? I don’t know. I will try.
