LUNCH ON THE PALOUSE The reason we ended up at Taco Bell in the first place was Cheryl, still bickering about money with Peggy, her rich girlfriend, who would have been happy to take Cheryl out to any of Walla Walla’s better spots but not to give her an annual stipend or live with her and her spoiled six-year-old son, so this left Cheryl victimized twice over, first by capitalism, then by Peggy, and needing to put on a big production of paying for her nachos on her own tab. I ordered soft tacos and a Lipton tea, which spilled on the green olefin carpet tiles and was instantly soaked up, leaving no trace. ♦ ♦ ♦ AN AVOCADO DREAMS OF TACO BELL I was born for the blade, for the clean cut, whether I end in aioli or a vulgar polypropylene container of failed guacamole. So what if I do get off sometimes, splayed out daydreaming with my sister paltas among jalapeños, limes and haughty kiwis in their blister boxes? Even back in Michoacán my little pit quickened at the thought of slavering alien tongues on my flesh, of probing digits. Judge not.
“so this left Cheryl victimized twice over,
first by capitalism, then by Peggy,” 🤣🔥
😁: "so this left Cheryl victimized twice over,
first by capitalism, then by Peggy"