Spitball Army

Somewhere in America, there’s a street named after my Dad.

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The Jalapeno Deception

November 2nd, 2010 · No Comments

I. The old men sit on the porch, smoking, joking, drinking. A jar of peppers sits beside them. They dangle a jalapeno toward us, menacingly.

II. My jalapeno memory is stoked by the sweet smell of its flesh. I refuse, unfooled. Not Carlos: he doesn’t feel pain, and takes the challenge.

Tags: food

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