Food.
They pulled over a table, a couple of mismatched plastic chairs. A breeze blew cool under the canopy of trees, the thick, gray night visible around the silhouette of bland four stories.
The outdoor seating was across the street from the hole in the wall, on a slapdash section of pavement, lit by the florescent signs of Tyre World. An air conditioner whirred loud in the windows above us, providing a vibrant white noise soundtrack to our meal. The first dish arrived, and we irreverently broke the sanitary plastic wrapping our plateware, Dave with his fingernail and me with a chopstick. I was amused to notice the chip on the soup bowl.
Mutton kebab, with this tingly orange spice rub… the sticks just piled up in the middle of the table, and we quickly found ourselves running out of room on the table as all the different plates arrived with more food. Fried rice with raisins and carrots? Yes please.
