I don’t know why, but this place reminds me of Morocco. This place being Massachusetts, in case I didn’t spell that correctly in the title. It feels… strange. At about 9 o’clock every night, someone fires up what must be the world’s largest charcoal grill. That smells drops me straight onto Rue de Juraa in Maarif, eating grilled corn on the cob dipped in salt water. And also camel meatballs. And also, I constantly fear that I will go out and not be able to understand a single thing anyone says. I’m 90% certain that at the pharmacist, I ordered a famaacaaadeyaaaahd. Whatever the hell that is.

Also, the street in front of my place is torn up and a bunch of cops show up and give me stinky eyes when I try and drive around. But mostly I think it’s that smell, the burning charcoal. I want to go out and eat Maqooda, goddamit.

Oh, the day I got here, I went to the bar for supper, and struck up a conversation with the guy sitting next to me. Well, he struck it up with me. I’m not the friendly conversation sort. Anyway, he insisited we play Keno, some sort of numerological gambling game, and we won $75.

This isn’t going anywhere. A new follower has given me performance anxiety, and now I’m just babbling. So! This place reminds me of Morocco and… I guess I’ll just go get diarrhea someplace.


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