CHAPEL OF THE SACRED MIRRORS
You live because something else dies.
I stood outside the Chapel Street Arco AM/PM Mini Market Gas Station funneling down my two-for-$1.69 hot dogs drenched in mustard and cloaked in green relish and capped with sliced jalapeño peppers. A tear of relish fell upon my coat, “Dammit,” and I raised it up with my fingertip and I ate it.
It would have gone good with sips of Napoleon Brandy on a cold night like that one. I already felt like Napoleon marching back from Moscow in defeat.
Hong “Buddy” Gildong was my companion that night. Short, stout, Korean. I called Buddy “Buddha” for a joke. He was always smiling. I think it was congenital.
I asked Buddha, “Did you know that ‘brandy’ is from a Dutch name meaning ‘burnt wine’.”
Buddha said, “That’s why I prefer burnt juniper berries.”
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