- Harry Jensen
April 26, 2020
It is the third day of Ramadan, and our fourth day of fasting, or maybe our fifth. I’m exhausted. I delivered some more food for Caviar, two deliveries. For one of them, I waited half an hour for a restaurant to prepare a cold sandwich. While I was waiting, another Caviar driver with braids and painstakingly white Nikes came up.
“Have you been helped?” he asked me.
“I’m good,” I said, pulling down my scratchy mask to mumble louder.
Later, he accused me of
Lasagna: I’m feeling full and satisfied