newly-minted american, a work acquaintance banished any filipino dish from her july 4th party this evening. no rice, only those she deemed quintessential american fare. i had to leave after her husband failed to start an open pit flame in their backyard and suggested we do our smores instead over their apartment stove.
still two blocks away from my building, i told the pakistani cab driver i was good by the next corner. his pheromones were overacting. the neon sign of the chinese was still lit but when i got to their order window, the order taker gesticulated they’re done for the day.
walking home, i steered clear of a group of mexicans listening to a ballad blaring from an old-school boombox. a smattering of innocuous fireworks exploded nearby filling the air with the scent of slowly simmering pork adobo.