when we can't decide where to go or what we want, we want mexican.
weeks ago, at this very place, we sat across from a londoner.
england, you know.
i only know because between her ooohings and ahhings
she mentioned it to her waitress.
she asked about everything,
how this was cooked, and what was that,
and how exactly was this little tidbit made?
and this stuffing, what is it?
her unbridled happiness at the food i take for granted made me smile.
she'd never heard of a chimichanga
and i could hear her savoring the word as she repeated it aloud
in her fabulous british accent.
that day, my guacamole tasted better than ever.
august break day 6.