A fearless boy turns to his right and lacking sincerity asks, "Why are they arguing?" I try to explain, Asian men are meticulous and stern {keeping my beef about parental supervision and basic lessons about strangers secret}. Pancit Cantonese is the primary Quizine spoken aqi. The boy's family desecrate the entrance, causing a racket, as the proud patriarch twists a bandanna, manufactured in imitation colors, characters, and solar discs around his balding head [the members make a mockery of the halo, as he adjusts himself beneath the silent wind charm]. It is when the runt whines out loud, disjointed, "Why are they so slow?" that I realize my gutteral labia was correct: that he could not have been Mexican, for the hacienda moss wilts in defiance just next door, but was most likely Gringo Lebanese or Southern American, closer in temperament to Venezuela, Ecuador, and Argentina. Looking downcast, I replied, "Many people are hungry."
Exit Stage Left, alongside Skeletor-Dragon armamentos strapped to the boiling brim.
