Vacation

It wasn't the skinned lamb carcasses that greeted me as I walked through the door. Nor was it the short, dark-tanned man with the cigarette hanging out of his mouth proudly showing me the assorted viscera stacked high on his stall. It wasn't even in the next hall where the seafood was so fresh I thought for a brief moment that I was snorkeling. What struck me the most about the whole experience was the narrow coffee shop tucked into a wall in between tripe soup vendors. I joined the old men at their Formica-clad tables, their glares a mix of disdain for my intrusion and curiosity at my boldness. I motioned the grey-haired bowling ball of a lady behind the counter like a pro, and before long I had my coffee in front of me. I'm not a big coffee drinker, to tell you the truth. But I...
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