Last week, I went to Nice for a few days, to write and to be somewhere sunny and to get out of my own head and because I needed a break and wanted to travel before it gets too expensive this summer. Anyway, it was glorious weather and I had a lovely, even if stressed out time -- too stuck in my head, still; anxiety, stress over my body. On my last day there, which was a Sunday, I went out to buy breakfast, and I was desperate for coffee. On the way back, I walked down the street, eating my croissant, drinking my coffee. I could tell, even from the few people out in the street at that time in the neighbourhood, people clutching their bags to do their grocery shopping before stores closed -- that people were judging me for just walking down the street, chomping my croissant, not even taking the time to sit down and eat it properly. But I was hungry, in that moment, and I thought to myself, fine, I’m Dutch now (I’m not.) and I will eat walking the street, holding my croissant like everyone else walking out of Albert Heijn. I was reminded of how, even until a few years ago, the idea of fast food -- specifically, the kind of food you walked down the street and eating -- was such an outlier to an older generation, and how that is now so common, to just eat while you’re going. It is always amazing to me, to see how quickly everyone buying their snacks from Albert Heijn and Jumbo eats them; almost gone by the time they’ve walked out the door; eating as a functional exercise. Is there pleasure in this way of eating? I don’t know. But sometimes, on a Sunday morning, that is what you need.