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  • Harry Jensen
    • Apr 26, 2020

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


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Lasagna: I’m feeling full and satisfied

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