El sabor de decepción

Huge bummer at lunchtime: Pita Pete's is gone! It was a gorgeous day so I decided it was worth extra hike, not to mention the fact that I was looking forward to telling Carlos about the awesome juanes zompist's media naranja prepared for us last Sunday. Imagine my surprise when I found the door locked. No "STORE FOR RENT" in the window, no handwritten note thanking loyal customers for their patronage, just a locked door. I pray to God this isn't the same way his employees found out. I mean, I think Pete has a lot more class than that, but desperation makes men do ugly things sometimes.

And before anyone asks, I did my bit to support him by eating there weekly. Last week was a rare exception--I ended up going out with friends two separate days, so my normal habits were completely thrown off. I knew business wasn't great, but I interpreted such signs as the appearance of daily specials as the usual everybody-is-hurting recession response, not indications of any particular difficulties. Apparently other weren't so oblivious; when I went to the mediocre café next door to get the skinny, the barman made some reference to the fact that he "wouldn't change his food".

I for one didn't want him to. That place filled a niche in E-town's dining ecosystem that none other did. Essentially, his product was a tasty salad with reasonably good grilled meat rolled in a pita and served in pleasant surroundings for a reasonable price; most weeks, it was undoubtedly the healthiest thing I got outside the home. And you couldn't beat the staff. With the exception of that ridiculously slow new guy that Pete unaccountably put behind the counter a few weeks ago, I could have a enjoyable chat with any of them, often in my choice of English or Spanish. I'm not worried about the student help, but I really wonder what Carlos is going to do, let alone the old bear with the bum leg and no papers.

When I stepped outside again, I didn't know where to go so I autopiloted myself to one of the last used bookstores in town, where I found nothing. Short of time after that, I made my way to Chipotle where I never earned any known-client cachet despite being a weekly visitor and always ordering in Spanish and the woman who dealt out the sauces always always gave me too much no matter how I phrased my requests for less. That overwhelming taste of disappointment in your mouth? It's the cumin.

En franchissant

Moi j'ai fait un rêve cette nuit et dans cette rêve j'ai parle un peu du français. J'attendais un train de la CTA et quand il y arriva, il se composa d'un seul wagon. Est-ce que j'ai dit "wagon"? En fait, une petite barque ouverte, comme un coracle gallois. Il y avait déjà un passager dedans, et non seulement lui, mais aussi un tas du feuillage qu'il était en traine de transport. Je tentai d'introduire un billet dans le lecteur de billet, mais il était enrayé avec des feuilles de choux. Je me plaignis à l'homme là, qui tint une rame à la main mais il n'eut pas l'air de me comprendre, ainsi j'essayai de parler le français. Mais cela fait ans que je ne parle pas le français et il sortit de ma bouche tout mêlé avec de l'espagnol. Je dis "hace" en lieu de "fait" bien que avec la prononciation francisée (c'est-a-dire comme "asse"). Mortifiant!