Link to previous Chapter 1
After a
short drive, Bast pulled into a concrete parking lot around what looked like a
one-story country house with pale grey siding and red awnings over the windows.
Inside the front door, there was bar-style seating along an old-fashioned
Formica countertop to the left; through a doorway to the right stood tables and
booths with bright, red-and-white checkered tablecloths. The whole place
smelled delicious, like coming home to something simmering in a crockpot after
a long day. A waitress appeared and led us to a booth, dropping laminated menus
in front of us and taking our drink orders – water for me and iced tea for
Bast. I picked up the menu to peruse their offerings, but Bast left his on the
table and sat back comfortably.
"Come here often, do you?"
I asked.
"No, not really, but when I do,
I know what I'm getting. Their fried chicken is amazing, you should try
it!" he responded, happy to share his expertise. I shrugged in agreement,
since I wasn't specifically in the mood for anything in particular, and scanned
the available side dishes.
"Huh. They're surprisingly heavy on the vegetables, for a rural restaurant." I said. "Including, wow, pickled beets? That's unusual."
