The Breakfast Resurrection Parade

All Anthony wanted was a few bananas and some peanut butter. His kingdom for Nutella but he wasn't hedging his bets. He was slow going, still half in the bag from last night's commiseration session with Isabelle gnashing and wailing about Kev's new girlfriend. Anthony gets it, he does. Lord knows she put up with the Great Heartbreak of 'o8 with him. A solid year of despair and self loathing. Surviving the war. They forgot to get breakfast fixings and it's going on noon. His stomach was beyond rumbling, it was a full blown orchestra with kettle drums pounding. It's a fine line between nausea and hunger. He realizes the sound isn't emanating from his intestines but rattling the windows from College Street below. Christ almighty, the Resurrection parade. Thousands of devout Catholics lined up 5 bodies deep, celebrating the Easter holy days. For six blocks police cordoned off both sides of the street and locked down traffic. He'd never get out his front door. One of the drawbacks of living in Little Italy/Little Portugal: high holidays and World Cup. Legitimized chaos and endless parades, full blown pageantry with whips and livestock. Crazy Catholics. It's like every weekend is a different celebration. He could muscle his way through the revellers but balance isn't his strong suit right now and with his luck he'd get pulled into the procession, probably end up crucified on the cross. Isabelle sleeps through everything, streetcars squealing, 3 am hipster ravings, even ocassional gunplay at the Gelateria. She'd be fine elbowing through the mob, probably start her own parade but she's down for the count, at least til dinner. Two bottles of wine, half a bottle of tequila and three bags of popcorn but could they have thought about food for the morning while at the Metro? Anthony gives up. Salsa with corn chips and crusty warm hummus. Breakfast of champions today.

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