Donut
I was walking with my friend Emily south on Broadway in Manhattan, and as we crossed Houston Street, she remarked that donuts sounded good. I began keeping an eye out for a donut shop, while continuing the previous conversation, but when I pointed out a shop to our right after a couple of blocks, she said, "No, there's a really great place up here you've got to try. Best donuts around. Come on, it's worth it."
I gave a look of frustration, as my legs were a little tired and sore, but continued walking.
Past Canal, on the edge of Chinatown, we took a left, and several more turns placed us in a small dead-end alley, completely lined with shops.
Emily nudged me and pointed to a bright sign over a shop immediately to our left. "That's the place!" she said.
Before we could go in, however, a tiny Asian woman standing outside a restaurant at the very end of the alley began screaming. "Hey you! You in denim jean! Short guy! Yeah, you! Look!"
Somewhat taken aback by the abrupt address, my hand followed her pointing finger to a glass door, on which a sign made of letter decals read:
I looked back at the woman with my palms up to my sides, in the most confused gesture I could muster. what was this all about? And regardless of that, how did this woman even know my name? After several seconds of staring, she finally broke into laughter, and this time pointed again, but this time at another woman working at a vegetable cart behind me. When I turned, the second woman jumped up, and smiling, shouted, "Hey Matt, remember me? From the wedding! Yeah, I'm your Aunt ___ [name not remembered]." It became clear that she had seen me coming and tipped off the restaurant owner, as sort of a joke.
In the dream I thought back and remembered this woman, not a true aunt but more a friend of the family, and only a few years older than I, helping my sister into a dress.
She went on to explain that an uncle of mine had dated the restaurant owner many years ago and had broken her heart so badly that she'd put up the sign to get back at him, vowing never to let him or any of his kin into the place again. As the years passed, and hard feelings softened, the sign had become sort of a joke, and eventually meshed itself so much into the neighborhood culture that no one wanted to take it down.
I continued talking to my "aunt," sharing stories and updating her on how the rest of the family was doing, as the dream slowly faded out.
I gave a look of frustration, as my legs were a little tired and sore, but continued walking.
Past Canal, on the edge of Chinatown, we took a left, and several more turns placed us in a small dead-end alley, completely lined with shops.
Emily nudged me and pointed to a bright sign over a shop immediately to our left. "That's the place!" she said.
Before we could go in, however, a tiny Asian woman standing outside a restaurant at the very end of the alley began screaming. "Hey you! You in denim jean! Short guy! Yeah, you! Look!"
Somewhat taken aback by the abrupt address, my hand followed her pointing finger to a glass door, on which a sign made of letter decals read:
NO RICE FOR
MUSSELMAN!
INFORMATION:
212-___-____
I looked back at the woman with my palms up to my sides, in the most confused gesture I could muster. what was this all about? And regardless of that, how did this woman even know my name? After several seconds of staring, she finally broke into laughter, and this time pointed again, but this time at another woman working at a vegetable cart behind me. When I turned, the second woman jumped up, and smiling, shouted, "Hey Matt, remember me? From the wedding! Yeah, I'm your Aunt ___ [name not remembered]." It became clear that she had seen me coming and tipped off the restaurant owner, as sort of a joke.
In the dream I thought back and remembered this woman, not a true aunt but more a friend of the family, and only a few years older than I, helping my sister into a dress.
She went on to explain that an uncle of mine had dated the restaurant owner many years ago and had broken her heart so badly that she'd put up the sign to get back at him, vowing never to let him or any of his kin into the place again. As the years passed, and hard feelings softened, the sign had become sort of a joke, and eventually meshed itself so much into the neighborhood culture that no one wanted to take it down.
I continued talking to my "aunt," sharing stories and updating her on how the rest of the family was doing, as the dream slowly faded out.