I walk over to where the vendors have et up their stands. My mom’s words echo in my head “You shouldn’t eat in those places, because they don’t know what they give you”. In a sense she was right I had no idea what was in there, and I don’t think they would just throw away meat. The street vendors have their own method of recycling: “If it looks like food stick it in there, they wont know the difference.”
For all I know I could be eating Scooby Doo, or a sewer rat, or something I don’t know. But who cares it tastes like chicken, so it must be, never mind that pretty much all foods taste like chicken.
But who was my mom to lecture me, she ate fried slugs as a delicacy. The French and their strange foods, (shiver) how can she know what they stick in those snails.
So I ordered a hamburger, and a skewered sausage.
What do you know I wake up at 4:00 in the morning, and get to introduce my stomach’s contents into the toilet. And that stuff definitely wasn’t chicken.
Maybe I should listen to what people tell me… Or not.
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