30M2DW III - Day 19

Tastes Like Chicken

I left Dusty and Lucky on the beach in Bijao, Panama - where the temperature hovered around 90F every day - sipping their fruity drinks with the little paper umbrellas in them and made for the Tocumen airport. I had a two hour cab ride ahead of me and I really needed to catch the last flight out to Newark. Otherwise, I'd have to spend another day in Panama. Did I mention the temperature was 90F?

With layovers in Newark and Montreal, and after a 14 hour travel day I finally made it home where, exhausted, I fell into bed next to Dylan.

She stirred. Her eyes fluttered open and she said to me "Hey, Stud. Glad you're back. Actually, I'm glad you're front too." And with that we tumbled into each other's arms and, like they say in the movies, fade to black.

The next day I was up early, showered, shaved and was ship-shape to continue my sleuthing. I checked the internet for the address of this restaurant in Chinatown, collected my keys and with my head filled with visions of last night's acrobatics - I think Dylan would do well in an X-rated Cirque de Soleil -I drove into town.

There was no way one could drive a car through the narrow streets of Chinatown so I parked the beast and got out and walked. I hadn't gone far before I saw a sign over an inconspicuous doorway that said "Sum Yung Guy Hung Fook Hing Low" and I chuckled to myself. The doorway might have been inconspicuous but that sign certainly wasn't. I went in.

The place was poorly lit. You almost had to take the menu with you outside in the daylight to read it, And then I saw him. A huge hulk of a human. He must have weighed 600 pounds, No wonder I couldn't see. The guy was sitting between me and the window and his frame blocked out the sunlight.

"Joe?"

"No. I'm Rob."

"Rob? Rob who?"

"Rob Ford, mayor of the great city of Toronto."

"What the hell are you doing in my story," I asked.

He snorted a line of coke, looked up at me and said "I must be in one of my drunken stupors."

Over his shoulder some guy was waving at me. It was Joe Blow. He motioned me over with his index finger. He pointed to a vacant chair. I sat.

Geez, I thought. They'll let just about anyone in this place.

"Hey, Joe, what do you know?" I asked.

"I just got back from Kokomo" he replied.

"Oh, yeah? Did you see the Beach Boys while you were there?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

"Hungry?"

"A little."

"You should try the frogs legs. They're our signature dish."

"Frogs legs? Really?"

"Go on. Try them. It tastes like chicken."

Tune in tomorrow to see if Inspector Gouda try's the frogs legs. In the meantime, hop (sorry frog) on over to We Work For Cheese and see how the rest of those poor sods covered off today's prompt.