Sudetenland Tales by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Sudetenland Tales

Page 163

I walked more, but quickly felt like I was getting heat stroke. I went to Book Street, which is a pedestrian mall where a bunch of open front book stores face this one street, along with a few cafes and such. It was cute, but the last thing I needed was to drag around twenty pounds of books in the hundred plus degree heat. I wandered around dehydrated and went to another giant mall and ended up at a fake Italian place where I got an almost passable mall pizza slice, near as good as DiGiorno’s “You’ll think it delivery.’ I then hit a Pahjeet 7-Eleven on the way to get caffeine and junk food, and sat in their air conditioning until dinner. They were not thrilled with me sitting on the floor eating tiny bags of expired cheese doodles, while blocking access to the tiny bags of overpriced nacho chips. But what could they do when next to me was a darkie with an attitude doing the same thing? Pahjeets fear being accused of rather than doing discriminatory behavior; witness Nikki Haley in Michigan.

Dinner was once again crazy, but in the opposite direction. It’s chef Peter Cuong Franklin’s place, and it’s in a tube house in the wet market. It has a bunch of different floors for a noodle shop, a bar, and the actual restaurant. I ordered the chef’s menu, and they put me at this bar, where I was shoulder to shoulder with other eaters, but we didn’t talk to each other. Also, two of the girls there were influencers or whatever and