A love letter.

You had me at "Can I take your order?"

You had me at "Can I take your order?"

Dear Mens,

I’ve enjoyed the ride. It really has been fun. All the dinner, drinks, dancing, boob grabbing in inappropriate venues. I can’t tell you how much it has all meant to me. But I’ve found someone. His name is Kipoto and he takes orders from a food cart/carnival/Indian circus thing. He used to wear a fake mustache, as do all of his brothers of the Fojol clan (Dingo, Gewpee, Ababa-Du), but I think his grown-up facial hair has grown in. He’s a man, is what I mean. And he serves yummy pumpkin puree type stuff and cauliflower stuff with lots of curry so your plate is yellow. And the lassipop. Oh my. I don’t even mind that his rice is a little…woody. My palette is singing, and I feel like dancing to the strange, silly carnival music of Merlindia.



K: Same place and time tomorrow? Til Twitter do us part.


One response to “A love letter.

  1. Pingback: Tweety Tweet (tweet tweet) - wear

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