Bacon is an old love of mine. Today  the love is just a memory, but if I’m reminded about how I once felt, I’ll end up at a food truck, mindfully eating a bacon grilled cheese, paying attention to whether those original feelings still exist.

The food truck is in Alameda. The original feelings don’t exist.

My taste has changed and I prefer different flavors and textures now. Bacon had its run and it was a good one. I don’t regret one bite.

Other things are in Alameda that I once loved and still do. I can’t have these things and I end up here and get sad and cry, but if I pause to remember what it was I loved about these things the characteristics are not unique.

Every child giggles. Every housewife loves unexpected company. Every husband loves it when another woman gives his wife flowers…right?

Every small apartment is a reality filled with dreams  about the future.

Their taste has changed.   We’re yummy in the tummy but bad on the heart. I understand. I get it.

Maybe they’ll stop by our food truck one day. We’re parked here right now, in the rain, thinking of you.

But even when we change locations, we’ll still be in business. Remember that.