I have made a deal with the Devil. Salad-themed potlucks every other Wednesday from now until I'm not sure when. Thing is, it was a while ago, and I can't remember who was on which side of the deal, or what the other side gets in return, or how long this is supposed to go on for. So I just keep having 'em. Not sure if this means eventual riches, or unknowingly playing some part in a cosmic chess match, or just that I get to keep my soul another two weeks. And the Devil too has slipped from my memory. Sometimes I remember meeting him/her in a nightclub in New York, but the timing doesn't make sense, so then I think it might have been a guy I sat next to on a plane, and then it fragments into the neighbor's cat, a gigantic, half-imagined clock tower, an ineffable presence to the side of me one morning as I looked out the window, eating cereal. Anyway, here we go again.

You know that feeling when you are soaring high above the ground and the birds are making strange noises at you but some how you understand them and then you understand that all the world is always making strange noises and if you listen in just the right way it all starts to make sense? You know that feeling? It has no name, but it has a time and place, and together that time and place make Salad Wednesday. Tonight.