I have lived on the same street for a couple of months now; as the days pass, it seems to stretch. I swear, the distance from the kebab shop to the textile/mob-front store used to be 5 or 6 doors, but somehow a couple of sidewalks and traffic lights have inserted themselves in between the two. Now, it takes half an hour, a sherpa, three piss stops, and a packed lunch to get from one to the other. Look, I know that you think that I'm schizophrenic, but something is definitely happening here.

Similarly, as my epicurean tastes continue to dignify, wait times have increased; when I relied on fries-with-that dining, the time between ordering and artery clogging flew by. As I moved on to sit-and-sip-bottomless-cola joints, it seemed as though servers were traveling to Mexico for jalapeno poppers. Now, in my dine prime, plates appear at a sloth-ish pace. Thankfully, the affordable Italian fare at Arriva is well prepared and quickly served. I get so excited when my food arrivas promptly. -S.T.