today i walked home with a pot on my head.

the lady sitting next to me on the bus called me her pothead. the valet having a smoke as i walked home said, home ec? ron, my neighbor whose house smells like his five flea-bitten dogs, said, interesting. some people laughed, like when duncan jogged home from the farmer's market in charles village cradling a watermelon like he was a fugitive.

grace gave me back my pot in school today, and conveniently, it was raining and i didn't have an umbrella. pothandles are smart. grace is tall and statuesque and likes potatoes and spinach. we made potatoes in the pot.

my new friend was supposed to come over for dinner, but he called and said he couldn't. his robot broke its arm and he was in washington fixing it. i was disappointed. he asked me what i was going to make for dinner even.