Noodle Land

Warmth is returning to Victoria, ever so slowly.  Winter is fading away, and people are once again beginning to flock to the bustling downtown core, wearing tank tops and flip flops even though the weather is what Victorians like to call "spring jacket weather". 

Tourists call it "still really fucking cold". 

But a certain subset of women like to be the first to bust out the summer clothes.  I have no idea why this is, but I imagine it's a neurological response to seasonal changes.  Sort of like how ducks know to fly south for the winter. 

I was walking downtown, admiring all the twenty-something women in low-cut tops and short skirts as they shivered, all sexy-like, when I felt that old hunger come upon me once again.  I saw those shaking legs, those blueish fingers, and the urge descended.  I couldn't fight it.  It was irresistable, and I felt myself drawn in to a seasonal urge of my own, succumbing to its siren call...

I needed me some noodle box.

I power-walked to the fisgard location, drawing out my stamped noodle card while I waited in the line.  It occurred to me that the last time I had eaten there was in 2010, probably around mid-November.  I had been noodle-free for almost five months... the entire length of winter, and then some.

I was a bear who had just come out of his hibernation.  And like a bear, I needed to eat to make up for months spent in slumber.  Like a bear, I had to eat my body weight in spicy black bean noodles. 

I left with my trendy little take-out box, happily walking past the throngs of tight white shirts, diamond-hard nipples, and hypothermic hussies while the april rains began to fall once more.

I didn't care. I was back in noodle-land, and it felt good.

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