Where are you taking us, she asked.
Northwest Arkansas has major roadways, and if you get off of them, Google likes to use back roads that twist and turn and meander through cow pastures, and million dollar houses.
We were looking for Senor de la Tacos and every place we passed had signs in Spanish and English.
Is this a street taco place, she asked.
I could never play poker.
I have a tell and it’s my type.
Street tacos and Chinese food and redheads.
And blondes.
And brunettes.
And now, streaks of gray.
I mean, sexy is a sexy feels, and I am a swinger when it comes to food types.
But give me some street tacos in a pink adobe building off a back road in a neighborhood where I can barely keep up, and I am your man.
They offered to buy me lunch because of the driving, and the hauling, and the other little things that added up to them only having to walk into and out of the ball park on a 29 degree mountain morning.
My concierge service, satisfaction guaranteed.
I have rules about eating when I am alone.
A cross country drive means McDonalds.
Fast, the same, and I can eat with one hand doing 80 down the Interstate.
It doesn’t affect my get there by timeline.
But, once I’m in town, we’re hunting.
She usually looks up a brew pub or some new local spot, because you should always support entrepreneurs, I’ve told her.
She argues a franchise is owned by a local, but I don’t like my guacamole from a five gallon bucket.
She agrees local tastes better.
Sometimes we settle on a local chain, some aspiring success story where a guy or gal grew their dream on a bootstrap budget.
Mr. of the Tacos was in the bootstrap phase.
Homemade wood tables built with 4 x 4 post legs, polished with varnish to a high sheen.
Mariachi videos on the television.
Sixteen flavors of Fresh Water juices.
And decent carne asada tacos.
The best part was the show.
10 said I never take them places they speak English.
Which might seem close to the truth.
Even in Arkansas, we can explore the world.
IN Florida, I’m worse about it.
All the neighborhoods with Little in the title.
Little Haiti. Little Cuba. Little Jamaica.
Never a little England.
Or Little Paris.
Except if I see a guy with a barrel grill pulled to one side of a parking lot.
If I’m hungry, that’s the guy.
He’s got the hustle.
They make fun of me for it.
And they should.
She wanted something we had in Bentonville at a tournament three years ago.
Home made pork rinds served with a queso dip.
The memory of it was amazing, but it was North and we were going south for an hour, then east for two.
A fuel up for a long drive after a cold long Sunday morning from a tournament we didn’t win.
That’s okay, learning to lose is part of it, even if I’m trying to teach #10 to HATE losing more than he likes winning.
Worth it with some street tacos and a Mex Coke that still doesn’t taste like it used to.
Guess we have some more exploring to do.
If you want to hear a murder mystery, check out PANCAKES AFTER MIDNIGHT.
You can read it here: PANCAKES AFTER MIDNIGHT
I picked this up to read this week: The Darkest Winter: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Adventure
Want some Action Thrillers, including mine if you don’t have it?
I like your voice narrating in YOUTUBE, Chris! It’s vibrant and lovely sounding and pleasant to the ear. And the American accent isn’t so pronounced, I understood perfectly everything you narrate. I’ve listened to a few audiobooks, and left them for various reasons. The reasons being, first the accent. As English is not my first language the different accents throughout USA are so different, I’d sincerely suggest for writers to choose an actor who pronounces well and doesn’t have the typical American drawls. Secondly, I get distracted whilst listening to an audiobook. It’s hard for me to concentrate on the audio, meaning I cannot multitask then! Lol. So, I’m not a fan of audiobooks. Sorry.
Thank you, Chris. Have a lovely and inspirational week ahead. 🧡🤗