THE FLAW IN HIS CHARACTER

Perhaps it's the great hot sauce crisis that's turning some people batty. That, certainly, is one explanation, and given where they were conducting their screaming match with threats and name-calling of people's maternal relatives, it makes sense. Middle of Chinatown. Loud and long. That they were white made it all the more theatrical, though somewhat less remarkable, as by their appearances one would accurately characterize them as meth-tweaking trailer trash from the drug infested residential hotels in the Italian part of town.


"That white boy with the stick up his ass."


Sadly, that didn't refer to me. It's been ages since anyone described me as a boy.

Naturally I observed the events keenly. Partly because I enjoy being, if necessary, a reliable witness. Partly because my pipe was still going, so I had to delay going to Walgreens for a while, and usually dawdle when so engaged. One should give one's pipe time.
It would disrespect the tobacco otherwise.

And even though one of the nearby stores is proudly selling bottles of Huy Fong Sriracha for $12.99, there are perfectly adequate replacements. That, if one shops outside of Chinatown, can cost up to fifteen dollars, but really shouldn't be over four or five.

So unless the gentleman with the stick up his ass had stolen the stringy white trash's stash of methamphetamine in addition to possibly his last remaining bottle of precious, precious Huy Fong Sriracha, there was really no reason for the rabid freak or his skanky tweaked out girlfriend to threaten to stab and stab and stab.
Just buy a different bottle, dude.


Lunch had been excellent. I am extremely glad that, so far, I am the only Caucasian who goes to that particular restaurant, given what lives only a few blocks away. I do not mind tantrumic street theatre out on the street, but I would not want it in the same establishment as myself and my plate of baked garlic fish and rice. With plenty of hot sauce.
I'm a bit of a snob that way.



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