For the past two days I have been reading up on the history and health benefits of pu-erh tea and I finally ordered a box today.
I need to raise my grade point average so that I can apply to the Honors Program.
The spices in this tea are not individually listed so I do not know what I am drinking apart from Camellia sinensis leaf extracts and cinnamon.
Last week I had a job interview at Urth Caffé in the Arts District. They had me wait on the outdoor patio adjacent to the $500,000 Barker Block lofts on Hewitt Street for an hour. Lavishly dressed occupants transiently deserted their residences in outlandish cars all the while piano symphonies reverberated from inside the brasserie. The owner, a Persian woman with a thick accent, wore a mahogany beret with the Urth Caffé emblem equidistantly stitched on it. She remained sat at a small baroque round table with her assistant next to a large window looking south where a burnt umber curtain veiled from crepuscular rays. On my way out she shot me a dirty look and when I got home a rejection letter awaited me in my inbox.
Yesterday my friend and I were in the Historic Core neighborhood near Skid Row. We walked into Sassony Arcade to use the restroom. The mood in the place was somber but we made our way to the back where at least twenty men played pool. A man with a cortical cataract affecting the cortex of his left eye stood in a doorway charging people twenty-five cents for admittance to the restrooms. We paid then were escorted to a six by eight feet hallway with four doors, two of which were unnamed. My friend went first while I played amateur watchperson outside in the hallway. The watchperson remained at the entrance of the hallway barricading the door with his arm. I quickly looked around and noticed a bizarre door behind me with small punctured holes and a piece of cloth tucked in place of a doorknob. I tried looking through one of the holes swiftly while the man’s head was turned. When my friend came out, I walked in and decided not to use the bathroom because something in my gut told me the rectangular wall mirror in the bathroom did not solely exhibit specular reflectivity. My friend said that she thought so too and later told me that the unbearable stench in the hallway was that of decaying semen.
Yesterday I went to a glatt kosher market that is under the hashgacha of Kehilla to inquire about a current opening. Out of heedlessness I extended my hand for a farewell handshake and thus plummeted to rank of culprit by virtue of halachic norms.