Mars

I wake up at 8:34 am.  I worry I’ve overslept work until I realize it’s Saturday. I exhale and linger in bed a bit, admiring the orange glow of the room. This used to be a church.

I give my dog Zero fresh cold water and make myself a pour-over of strong coffee. I add a splash of coconut milk and have 2 mugs of it, reading a brilliant, heartbreaking book about the war in Ukraine.

Since its start, that war has occupied much of my mind. It’s raging in the part of the world where I grew up. I have roots in both countries. For the past year, I’ve been translating anti-war literature. I am considering translating this book, too.  I am microdosing it, reading just a few pages daily, so I don’t get entirely consumed by contemplating atrocities.

I moved to Philly 4 months after the war began, at my least optimistic and least fun at parties. Despite that, this city has put delightful, interesting, compassionate people on my path.

After a few pages, I put away the book and check the weather. It’s mind-meltingly hot and will only get hotter every hour. I take a quick cold shower and decide to hit the farmer’s market before the heat worsens. Zero asks to come with me, jumping by the door, so I take her along.

On our way there, we walk by a playground. On it, a little girl pushes an empty swing but forgets to catch it on the way back. It knocks her right in the mouth. Her parent runs over, horrified, but the kid is laughing. Some risks are easier to take with baby teeth.

At the market, Zero eats ice chips and I buy: 2 peaches, green garlic, Tuscan kale, red potatoes, and mushrooms whose name I forget (I asked the dealer for something chanterelle-like). One of the vendors offers me a black raspberry to try. It tastes like a cousin of the red one, more tart, but with the same flavor essence.

Zero thieving some water from flowers

The walk home feels endless. The heat is humbling us both. There is a black car with a megaphone on top, traveling along our route home, turning when we’re turning, with a woman gesticulating wildly in the front seat. The megaphone amplifies the following messages: My friend I beg you to repent of your sins! Your sins separate you from Jesus! This car follows us all the way home. I wonder if it meant to but decide it doesn’t matter either way.

We get home, and blast the AC. Zero drinks, I sit under the vent and eat a peach: my first of the season, peach blood trickling down my wrists and elbows. I take yet another cold shower and chug a cold seltzer.

Then, I sauté some red onion, rinse the mushrooms, add them in, let everything caramelize. Season with salt, cayenne, paprika.

I wash and dice the red potatoes and mince some green garlic. I roast them together adding some sumac, lemon peel, and white pepper.

When done, I make myself a bowl: potatoes topped with mushrooms, with a dollop of sour cream, and scissor-cut chives atop. Good meal.

I go to Two Locals to watch a Euro-2024 game. The brewery is deserted, and I am friends with the bartender, so we chat for a while. We discuss: heat, new music releases, heat, what to eat in this heat, and which of their beers pair best with which steak cut.

I am going to my friend’s house to grill this evening and want to bring a beer that pairs well.

I select a beer and go home, walk Zero, and give her dinner.

Then, I drive over to my friend Renee’s house. She just bought a grill and has the ingredients ready and lined up. She is tossing grillables in olive oil and lifting her hand, full of salt, waaay over her head like she just shot a 3-pointer. She salts the steaks liberally, from up above. I laugh. She insists it’s not about flair, but the evenness of seasoning. She used to work in food service, so I know she has a point. Even if it were flair, I don’t mind. Nothing wrong with some flair sometimes.

We eat like kings and catch up

Then, we go over to Tattooed Mom’s. We play (& lose) one game of pool and walk over to a disco party at Philly AIDS Thrift. We dance, drink cold beers & Gatorades, and inspect the creepy doll collection.

Around midnight, we head home. She catches an Uber and I drive home.

On my drive home, I notice a joyful, cheering crowd around one of the lots. People are clapping, and laughing, some standing on the hoods of their cars, all surrounding something. I slow down and see a parking lot, full of smoke, with a car doing donuts at the center of it. I smile and drive on, take my last cold shower of the day, walk the dog, and go to bed.

Mars is a translator who is new-ish to Philly and into: languages, books, dogs, the absurd, and talking to strangers. She can be found reading in bars around town or on ig at @punishing_puns