Day 30
One month of nothing but pasta, and now I can see colors that defy description. Beautiful antivermillion and ultrayellow auras dance around the wait staff, colors that are so obvious and brilliant that I can't believe that only I see them.
Occasionally, I catch glimpses of pastas from long ago in the past; even now, Mussolini's final bowl of farfalle hovers before me. But that's not all. I can see pasta from the distant future. A cruel dictatorship that crushes the public under its iron boot, where the only meal is an unsauced elbow macaroni dish, served cold and butterless. This is only one possible future, but it will happen unless the whispers of the ancient Keepers of the Sacred Noodle are true, and the prophecy can be fulfilled.
Lunch was Walden.
Dinner was composed of three plates of pasta:
Only I can save us.
A special thanks to my dining companion, Conch'igle, High Priest of the Sacred Noodle!