Red Beans and Rice

The Universe is fucking with me today.
I stopped at a truckstop in Greencastle, Pennsylvania to fuel. I decided to get some chicken from this little deli they had in the fuel isle. Well as I walked up, this lady behind the counter was explaining to someone that her father was Cajun, her mother was Jamaican, that was born in Jamaica but “risen” in New Orleans. All this sounded familiar to me, but I didn’t think much about it. But when I got up to the counter, she looked at me and said “Der be no rad beens on rice for you here, mon,” and grinned. Then she asked “How de hell you bin?” Hehe.
I figured it was another clone experience until she asked me “Where de short one? You still marry?”
Um …
Turns out she remembered me from The Big Easy truck stop in New Orleans. She was the cook there. I’d raved about her red beans & rice. She said she’d “blown in on the winds of Katrina” and wanted to go home, but felt “guilty abandoning de Yankees” because “dey don know what de hell to do with meat.” Hehe.
Yeah. It was a trip. What a memory, though, huh? Mara and I only stopped at that truckstop that once.

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