Senti foodie.

Dear Chinese guy whom I buy the best-tasting k from,

My mom said you're not the owner of the store now, she knew when she went there and saw a not as friendly woman manning the cashier. One of the waitresses confirmed. I am a silly girl, I get sad by petty things sometimes and I miss people I am used to when they go. Now you are one of those people. I got to drop by your place only once in a while, but every time I did you would welcome us by the door with the look on your face that just made me feel like you always remembered us. It was not exactly a smile, it was just a cheerful expression. It was a message in your chinky eyes, a greeting and a question at the same time. We would say the same things, ask for the same food, request the same extras. You would grant them up to the smallest details. Often our food was wrapped, but on rare days I would sit and eat, glancing at each part of the whole place every now and then while talking with my mom. The place was real old but that was what I liked best about it. It was a little funny, so, to find you, in the corner of walls with fading paint and hand-written menus, in front of a computer. I imagined how it was pretty boring to play solitaire the whole day, I wished you had internet. But I had been wrong, your online messenger was up one time. You always had a cigarette lit up too, but somehow the smoke never found its way to me, so I was just okay with it.

I wonder what happened. I hope nothing wrong. It will take a while before I get to go back to the store, but who knows, maybe that's just what it takes - a little while - for you to get back there again too.

Love,
a sentimental foodie