Please Don’t Tell

In the back of a hot dog joint near where we’re staying there’s a phone booth. You call ahead for a reservation (ours was at midnight). Kev had a ‘spicy red neck’ while we wait for the witching hour to roll around, a house dog wrapped in crunchy bacon with chilli, coleslaw and jalapeños. At midnight, I enter the phone booth and dial… then the back of the booth opens and suddenly we’re in ‘PDT’ (Please Don’t Tell).

Step through black velvet curtains into a small room where the brick walls are covered in taxidermy, and couples snuggle in cozy dimly-lit leather booths. Soundtrack is the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, New Pornographers and Arcade Fire, all circa 2003/2004.

I choose a cocktail called Wedding Bell; Paul Beau V.S.O.P. cognac, Coochi Americano, Lemon Juice, Mango Vinegar, Raspberry Preserves, Club Soda. Kev picks the N. 8 special; Ommegang Witte, Partido Resposada Tequila, Lemon and Grapefruit Juice, Amaro Averna, Valentina Hot Sauce. It looks like a ceasar, but tastes sweet and sour too. Confusing/Refreshing.

Afterwards, a game of Double Dragons. I would win but my control gets stuck. On the walk home a stranger offers us a box of cupcakes. Mine was coffee flavoured, and was delicious.



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