The place was a rathole.

"What are those people doing?" I whispered to Cecil.

"Looking at their cards. Shhhhh."

People were sprawled out, mostly kids, on old sleeping bags and rags on the floor, curled up to little glowing lights cradled in their hands.

Cecil led us into a back room.

"Lao sent us," Cecil said to a couple of guys in the shadows.

The big guy looked us over and said to the bigger guy, "Show 'em in."

The bigger guy turned and opened a door in the back.

"This must be the place," Cecil says, looking down a decrepit alley.

"There's nowhere down there I'm buying food from," I say.

"You don't understand," Cecil says. "They've got everything. They're a wholesaler. A wholesale warehouse."

Down a burnt-out alley? Where do the trucks go?

"It's super fresh and super cheap. You could get food for days! Anything you could imagine!"

Cecil was already headed down the alley. But gee, really? Anything I could imagine?

“What did you say to him? Why were you fighting?” I ask. Cecil is walking several steps ahead of me down the sidewalk.

“Foil packs!” he calls over his shoulder. “I bought some from him once. But now he swears he never sold them.”

“So where are we going now? And what about my groceries?” I ask.

“He mentioned a place down the street.”

I speed up to keep pace with Cecil.

How did this simple trip turn out to be such a disaster?

The market has a lowkey mold background smell. And fluorescent lights. But it's the one place to get everything I'm looking for. And the vegetables are mostly fresh.

"Beansprouts, eh?" Cecil says. "Those can go bad you know."

I'm still shopping while Cecil is having an argument with the shopkeeper.

"C'mon," he says when when he comes over. "We have to go."

"Yeah well I've got to buy my stuff first..."

"No time!" Cecil says. "It's bad news for us both if we stay. I know a place."

The shopkeeper is on his cell phone. Staring at us.

"Oh jeeze," I say.

"So, what are you getting?" Cecil asks. We're half way to the store on the bus. I was planning on cooking for someone, and though I hadn't decided on who it was yet, it wasn't going to be Cecil.

"Bean sprouts, carrots, bok choy, tofu, green onion, noodles."

"Oh I love ramen. That sound great! What can I get to add to it? We can hot pot."

No, we were not going to "hot pot."

"I could get some squid!" Cecil says. "Raw squid! Cook it right in the soup!"

"I'm not going to eat a squid," I say. "They're like, as intelligent as small children."

"So you wouldn't eat one?"

"No."

"How about fish? Fish baloney?"

"Fish feel pain," I say. "Even the fish they make fish baloney with."

"Slices of BBQ pork?" Cecil asks.

"Well, sure," I admit.

Ding!

"Hey it's our stop," Cecil says. "C'mon!"

Cecil, my floormate, is always trying to weasel in on everything. It's like he doesn't have a life of his own.

"The market? Yeah I need to go! When's the next bus?"

I check the phone. It's already tight.

"Yeah no prob. I just have to get my bag."

I tell him I'll meet him at the bus stop.

"Okay! Plenty of time. But hey can you lend me bus fare? I don't have any cash."

We can cook in the kitchenette on our dorm floor. There’s a psychic microwave that hurts my ears, and a half-broken caldron from Witch Delivery, and a super conducting fridge, so it’s pretty functional. But you have to supply your own food. The “don’t touch” sticky notes are serious because they are psychic booby trapped.

So I took the bus to the market.

Ever had anything just burn a hole through your film?