mr. taka ramen

just off the bowery. it was the uncharted and hollow days of pandemic winter. huddled over warm cups of sake in a shoddily constructed “outdoor dining” shed with pathetic foot heaters and pointless wide-open windows, i wondered if someone like you could ever love someone like me. that night, it was as though we were the only two people in new york city—maybe even the world. how do i look to you, in the soft light? through fogged glasses? do you dream of someone delectable, too?