…on my last day that I have my rental car from my trip:
The one (nerdy) (worked-out) (STEM) (Brazilian) who’s a coworker of the one (gay) (Brazilian) (STEM) post-doc who I know from around town has never tried macaroni and cheese, so he gets some from the buffet.
And, as it turns out, he hates it, and he says that it’s weird and milky and has no taste.
As we finish the meal, too, in this big bright hall of families dining and scattered (Amish) customers and workers, I ask the two of them what they think, and the one (nerdy) (worked-out) (STEM) (Brazilian) says that the entire time that he’s been inside the restaurant he’s felt like he’s in a horror movie, and when I ask him why, he says that it’s like the beginning of a horror movie, where your car breaks down in this small strange out-of-the-way town and you have to spend the night.
Then, when we leave the restaurant, I can’t find the proper exit to the street, and as I loop the rows of parked cars, we see that one fence at the far end of the restaurant is devoted to horses and buggies, all tied up in a line there.
So, as we leave the restaurant and go to drive home through all of these small towns that we had passed on the way there, too, “Let’s go to a scary bar,” says the one (gay) (Brazilian) (STEM) post-doc who I know from around town,
Then, at one in the town one out from where we live, a (crazy) (young) (local) homeless woman comes into the bar and picks up his accent and tries to start talking to him in (Spanish).
“It is always awkward, when people speak Spanish to Brazilians,” the one (nerdy) (worked-out) (STEM) (Brazilian) turns to me and says, at that.
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