He waited until the cook had finished garnishing the last plate of noodles. She was craninh her neck to see if her order was done- noodles garnished with burnt garlic. After the cook had finished, our man heaped the plate with the hot street Chinese fare and sat down on the road. She sat on the tiny white stool on the road. Their eyes shone - much like the moon in the sky.
They looked at each other. Then they laughed at the crazy designs on the food truck. She made mental notes of replicating the trippy forest on one of the walls. He reminded himself of bringing home the paints for her.
Meanwhile on the opposite side of the road, a child almost finished his tiffin. There were a few half-chewn chunks of bananas. He wasn't going to have them now.
"Go throw it in that dumpster," her mother said.
"There?", the child asked - not wanting to go near the rusty, old gaping wound of a scrap vehicle. But she ran and emptied her tiffin there. It stank - that place...all those spoiled noodles and garbage bags that were so large that they seemed to be stuffed with something big.
She ran back to her mother and hugged her. She had the chills.
The next night, he got her golden-fried fritters and massaged her feet as she sat on her tiny stool under the banana tree.
They made fun of the funny looking food truck...and made mental notes of all kinds of funny things.
They always were an odd couple.
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