I was a rite of passage for an 8 year-old kid last night. His sisters and mother had been searching the jungle for those of us who didn't belong. Hiding in a thick brush, they reached me and grabbed at my thighs. One said, "How do I know if I have something?" The mother replied, "You'll know because it'll move." One of the little ones also grabbed hold of my flesh. "It's squishy, but it's not moving." Another added, "I like it. It feels soft."
They cleared away a part in the brush and exposed my legs, then up to my face. I was taken to a clearing and the boy whipped me with my own scarf. Then he moved me to my knees and began cutting the arches of my feet with a razor. They do it to prevent you from walking and to change you for life, no longer able to hunt or hide in the jungle again. With such wounds as well, crippled, you are forever recognizable as an other. Out of reflex I recoiled on the second cut, slicing through muscle and tendon, and jerked my leg from the pain. After the third cut, I awoke.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Katz's Delicatessen
Tony and I went in for a light lunch this afternoon. HA! What a laugh. Sharing a bowl of split pea soup and a pastrami on rye, we left amazed. Full beyond full, we gawked at those around us who tackled an entire sandwich. I'm convinced you have to be in construction, or some purely physical job, in order to sink a whole meal at Katz's.
Having said that, the place is classic. Photos of celebrities line the walls. Upon entering you're handed a ticket, like what you'd get from winning at skeeball. With 50 tickets, you could get at best a plastic boomerang. The prizes at Katz's, however, are far better. For each item you order, you hand your ticket to the person behind the counter who in turn scribbles in your price. As you accumulate items, you too accumulate new numbers, your former cost scratched out, a new one in its place. Old school. No computers. No credit cards.
And the pastrami? Sliced off the bone in front of you per order. A sliver of meat is handed to you by your butcher/sandwich maker to ensure quality and satisfaction. Rye bread and yellow mustard. Go. Share a few things. Bring cash, maybe $50. It's awesome but it ain't cheap.
Having said that, the place is classic. Photos of celebrities line the walls. Upon entering you're handed a ticket, like what you'd get from winning at skeeball. With 50 tickets, you could get at best a plastic boomerang. The prizes at Katz's, however, are far better. For each item you order, you hand your ticket to the person behind the counter who in turn scribbles in your price. As you accumulate items, you too accumulate new numbers, your former cost scratched out, a new one in its place. Old school. No computers. No credit cards.
And the pastrami? Sliced off the bone in front of you per order. A sliver of meat is handed to you by your butcher/sandwich maker to ensure quality and satisfaction. Rye bread and yellow mustard. Go. Share a few things. Bring cash, maybe $50. It's awesome but it ain't cheap.
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