Evidence of excess.

A bowl of Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch, with fresh sliced strawberries, in skim milk. Over the course of several hours working on the translation journal with the superbly focused Liza, three slices of that cold Domino's pizza, and four Dunkin Donuts (!). Two cups or so of water while gorging on this nosh. Then on impulse called Sean and Emilie, and invited them to join Nora and I at The Cheesecake Factory in Brookline. I ordered Corn Cake tamales for the table -- spoonbread cakes, in a sauce of tomatillas, with chopped tomato and cilantro and avocado and sour cream and spiced sauce with cumin to boot -- as well as an order of spicy chicken Tex Mex egg rolls. I ate a nibble of Nora's seared tuna, and had most of a Navajo sandwich -- fry bread stuffed with chicken, red onion, lettuce, and alligator pear. I had three bites of the 30th anniversary cheesecake, with layers of fudge cake alternating with layers of cheesecake. All this was washed down by diet Coke. I feel, and disputably am, gross. There was also a congo bar along the way -- Nora made me.