Good Friday with the Carnies

While Kevin went for a run in the park, I opened all windows, threw the bed covers in the washing machine and stepped outside, onto our balcony. Sun poured down on everything, everyone; people stuffed their cars with bags and surfboards; parents lay down blankets on their back gardens and cuddled their toddlers; and far away, Michael Jackson's "Rock with You" blasted over the park's canopy.

After Kevin came back and took a shower, we packed our bags with journals and postcards and left the apartment. He told me an amusement park had been set up in the park and that he was craving a hot dog. Gypsy caravans formed a makeshift circle around gaudy rides. Bored wives stood by airguns; men with beerguts spilling out of their polo shirts threw darts at large playing cards; pram-faced girls asked us if we wanted to throw hoops and win giant stuffed lions. Three lanky boys at the Hot Dog stand sold us their large sausages and caffeine. A little girl ran hysterically through the fun house; three bumpy cars beat against each other, the children behind the wheels smiling maniacally; and Michael Jackson blared through the speakers again, "Rock with You" on repeat.

I finished my instant coffee on a bench opposite the pond by Victoria Park's entrance. The water lapping by our feet had old piece of bread, which pigeons occasionally approached for a nibble. When the wind grew a little cool, we left the park and walked to the Sainsbury's supermarket by Whitechapel (a long walk by the canal that runs through Mile End park, then the road that leads to the Whitechapel tube station.) We made a quick detour into the library by the supermarket, where Kevin jotted down recipe ideas from Italian cookbooks, and I borrowed Daniel Clowes' graphic novel David Boring.

We have enough food to get us through the Apocalypse.