The semi-secret breakfast was chiefly fried potatoes in all the usual configurations… tater tots, country potatoes, potato pancakes, hash browns, and so forth—with smaller amounts of eggs and miscellaneous breakfast fixin’s.
In my condition, though, which was better but still not optimal, I knew I wouldn’t be able to eat much, so I just took a small plate and sat next to a lunar and human talking—about the Vegan wars.
I recognized political argument, and resolved not to jump in.
—First things first—to get away from the cold. I packed up stuff for the day—another sandwich, a book of Dickinson, my computer,—and took a bus to city center.
The bus was empty at this hour of morning; it was still city night.
I needed to be around people, though—the condition I was in, whatever it was, was no condition to be alone in.
Someone had set up a sort of pavilion in the park, and I headed towards it.
About half a dozen people were inside, mostly lunars, and they were frying up a lot of breakfast.
“What’s the occasion?†I said, walking up. A few that hadn’t seen me approaching looked up, and the tallest waved me over.
“We’re gaṇakas. Have you heard of us? We’re semi-secret.â€
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