(no subject)
WHO: Sadiq and Garcia. I guess since it's all IN PUBLIC, this is an open thread xD
WHEN: October 25, monday afternoon
WHERE: A certain stall selling dolmades on Baroque Street
WHAT: ... Go find your own stall; this one's mine.
He woke up with a groan that morning. After a night of tending to a slow, sunday night bar, the man was not up for cooking his own lunch and lazing around the house like the potato he usually was. He'd slept until one O'clock pm that day, and the first thing he wanted to do was stretch his legs and take a drive, buy some damn lunch, and make himself happy for once. He'd hurt Gupta's feelings last night, apparently, and bad feelings were struck. There was a stall that was open on the weekdays down in Baroque Street that sold authentic Mediterranean and Middle Eastern food, from spinach pies to tabouli, and some of the best falafel he'd eaten. Sadiq only had to throw on his green jacket and button it up the front, throwing a red scarf over his shoulders before heading out.
A man needs to eat.
Of course Baroque was just as busy as it always was, with old ladies crowding the produce stalls to get only the freshest tomatoes, and children too young for school at their heels. Usually begging for a new toy or a certain home-made candy, though their squeals were enough to give Sadiq a headache just in passing. But as a familiar smell teased his senses, his bad mood was replaced with a hungry stomach growl, eager to buy some tasty food.
Dolamades. The very front row, warm and calling his name. Sadiq bought three, unable to help himself, and no sooner began munching on his first right where he was standing. Allah must love him today.
WHEN: October 25, monday afternoon
WHERE: A certain stall selling dolmades on Baroque Street
WHAT: ... Go find your own stall; this one's mine.
He woke up with a groan that morning. After a night of tending to a slow, sunday night bar, the man was not up for cooking his own lunch and lazing around the house like the potato he usually was. He'd slept until one O'clock pm that day, and the first thing he wanted to do was stretch his legs and take a drive, buy some damn lunch, and make himself happy for once. He'd hurt Gupta's feelings last night, apparently, and bad feelings were struck. There was a stall that was open on the weekdays down in Baroque Street that sold authentic Mediterranean and Middle Eastern food, from spinach pies to tabouli, and some of the best falafel he'd eaten. Sadiq only had to throw on his green jacket and button it up the front, throwing a red scarf over his shoulders before heading out.
A man needs to eat.
Of course Baroque was just as busy as it always was, with old ladies crowding the produce stalls to get only the freshest tomatoes, and children too young for school at their heels. Usually begging for a new toy or a certain home-made candy, though their squeals were enough to give Sadiq a headache just in passing. But as a familiar smell teased his senses, his bad mood was replaced with a hungry stomach growl, eager to buy some tasty food.
Dolamades. The very front row, warm and calling his name. Sadiq bought three, unable to help himself, and no sooner began munching on his first right where he was standing. Allah must love him today.