Another Sunday. It started out sunny and warmish, but now it's all gray and there's a light snow falling. I'm finally about to leave the office, with my editing job done at last, and set out in search of a FedEx drop off. I took a break at 1 to walk down State Street, something I haven't done in weeks, because I've decided to hide from winter this year. I wanted to try out the new cafe, Fair Exchange, and finish the Times crossword puzzle. (The sublime acrostic was consumed long ago.) I ran into one of my sons, so we sat down at the cafe and chatted, and the undone puzzle survives. The new cafe is fine. Lots of sandwiches, which they grill up nicely for you.

What's that? Lettuce in a sandwich you're going to grill?

It's spinach.

Very clever.

So a lovely grilled chicken sandwich and a large latte in a large room with ochre walls, a high ceiling (painted maroon), and lots of heavily impastoed ochre-and-green paintings. There are never enough lunch spots and cafes on State Street, and I'm saying Fair Exchange counts in both categories. Now, time to do the assorted errands and put in some time at Borders. This evening: why, the SAG Awards, of course! With any luck, a drunken Jack Nicholson will rant and rave about Diane Keaton.

UPDATE: The name of the cafe is not Fair Exchange. It's Fair Trade.