Tacos

You order the tacos. They arrive on a plastic tray: warm, decent, but not exactly life-changing. You take a bite.

They are fine. Perfectly fine. The seasoning is acceptable, but the salsa is a little watery, and the tortilla is slightly torn. You chew. You swallow. You shrug.

Around you, IX Art Park hums with murals and music. Someone nearby launches into a long explanation of their kombucha start-up. A food truck across the lot runs out of elote just before you walk over.

The tacos sustain you, but they do not define you. They are neither glorious nor shameful. They are simply… tacos.

When you leave, the world is unchanged. Your hunger is gone, but your soul remains exactly where it was: hovering somewhere between fulfillment and disappointment.

You live another day. Nothing more, nothing less.

Try Again?