- Chinatown Virgins
gave the badass boys of Texas Heat their first taste of a Chinatown
sidewalk, complete with the grime of chicken blood, fish guts and turtle
shells scraped clean. I never saw cowboys dry-heave so quickly as I did that
day. It must’ve been the bloody aprons and cracked, white knuckles of
butchers slicing up live bullfrogs. Or how the guy fingered the gills of
carp, snapping the heads back and forth.
the case, the culinary freak show wouldn’t spare the poor boys as cleavers
and deboning knives clicked and jabbed, plucked and skinned. “Was that
chicken really fluttering around without its head,” asked one badass, his
face turning white as a cold, lone star. “Yes,” I nodded and we moved
- “Shei-Shei,” a woman shouted, money in hand.
“Three-dolla, three-dolla for you, Mr. Xiang,” another said. The street
was heavy with human traffic. Darting children were everywhere, colliding
into housewives, paper umbrellas, electric eels and giant octopuses. All
this and no place to vomit. “This is too much for them,” I thought. So,
I led them further down Mott Street where I treated them to ice cream and
cake. There they sat for half an hour, licking spoons and sipping straws,
slowly regaining the color in their badass, Texan faces.
- copyright 2001,