Soup

In these days I am really into soup. I eat soup practically every day. It’s not expensive at all. You can buy 1 pack, 4 packs in it, for a dollar at a grocery store. How to make it, you just open a bag and dump the powder into enough hot water, or vice versa. They don’t taste special.

One big reason I like soup is that it makes me think I am staying at a shed in Italy or somewhere. I eat a soup before go to work. I am poor as hell. My work is to clean chimneys out. My boss raps on the door of the shed and yells at me to come out. I pick the bowl and drink the soup out of it. I wear dirty clothing and cram a piece of bread into a shabby bag. The bread is the best food I have and it keeps me positive till lunch. I nearly forget to bring rags to pick my nose holes after a chimney, or I die from lung problem. I run out of the shed and say good morning to my boss as radiant as possible. He is going to walk with me and asking if chimney cleaning is needed. My day begins.

So a soup kicks me into that kind of daydream all the time. And every time I have a bowl of soup, I re-realize that life has to be fun and exciting. I swear to the sky of Italy, where technically I have not been, I will try. You cannot think little of a soup. They have some magic. Or I am nuts.

I had two bowls of soup this morning and it made me feel sick. I swore to Tokushima’s local sky that I wouldn’t take soup for a while. I am simply tired of it. Maybe I cannot be a good chimney cleaner.