We were waiting for a train and I was hungry.
I can’t emphasize how important that fact was, because I turn into a psychopath when I am hungry.
Its irrational, I know, but I have always been afraid that one day (through my own negligence or some fluke of a missed meal), I’d starve to death.
I’m a tinderbox of neuroses, and this is just another one of them.
I become what I like to call Hangry.
hungry + angry = Hangry (the capital h has to stay because, to me, it is ‘another person’).
We went into a small restaurant on the train tracks and that’s when I met her.
Originally I was in disbelief that anyone could be so crispy.
You know those plastic versions of restaurant food? The kind that they put in shiny display boxes to entice customers?
Well, she was there, tooting her tempuraness like a fluffed hen. One look and I knew.
Served with a side of light soy sauce and some toasted green tea, Hangry ran away.