Delightful watching fellow patrons when they observe the order delivered. Did they hear right? Rasam?... Yes, indeed: what the man said. There you go. White guy in a movie hat and today red bandana. Seen him here before. Going to take it with a spoon is it? Well, well… Almost African aspect; very dark. Maid possibly. Compatriot certainly a mark above in rank. Yes, as it proved: at the register presented the bill to the cashier, but it was Madam bringing up the rear who drew the plastic. Regal; no impolite gawking her side. Didn’t look a dragon, however. Almost without pause replaced by a quartet of nurses, among whom a Chin first-timer in the place wondered aloud, — Mushroom soup?... Fire-power riposte had her lowering her eyes, all embarrassed. Tamarind, she was told by her opposite number after the laughter had subsided… Well, even old hands learn something every day. What, not tomato, onion and cumin? Tamarind?
Fella over the way at the market with a visage lifted straight from the CIA Most Wanted — Mohd Hanifa — guesses the drink just like another stallholder before him there had last week.
— Mango lassi?
Let ride, thinks he has not been heard above the hubub and repeats.
This after the hat had been removed, red Che bandana, granted, eye-catching bright.
Passing elsewhere in this town before other traders and hovering briefly, they understandably guess, Beer?
Set back on his heels Modh hearing teh halia kurung manis—on the advertising board called Ginger tea for the tourists. (Less sugar thanks.)
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