Most Saturdays if I’m out I go to the Temple Bar Food Market and have prawn-fried noodles at the little Asian stand there (teh intarwebs tell me it is called The Sushi Hut), which is run by a rather fierce little Asian woman and her much more mellow partner-husband-thing. I’m reasonably certain they put crack in the noodles, or something, because they are ZOMG good. So at least once a month, and more often if I can, I stop by there.
Last time, the fierce Asian woman said, “Can I help y–oh, prawn noodles, I’ll give you two extra,” and did just that. Today she didn’t give me extra, but she again didn’t ask what I wanted, just made up a giant new batch of noodles and possibly charged me fifty cents less than usual.
This makes me feel like part of a community in a way that’s difficult to describe. It’s a very, very small thing, but it’s also a very large one.(x-posted from the essential kit)