There was an Hispanic lady at the Chinese takeout place. I don’t know how I knew that. I tried my rudimentary Spanish on her, and she responded back with salsa-flavored friendliness. She knew I made an effort. I almost jumped the counter to tell the cooks my order because I thought that was customary. Someone held me back. There were two hands on my arm and it felt like a grip from different people. Maybe they can self-multiply on necessity.
The next day or month we were in a waffle house. The hostess was friends with us somehow but she didn’t give us any special treatment. She didn’t give any customers treatment. No one had food but we were all okay with it. When we left, still hungry, we found out she leaked gold or diamonds out of her various bodily holes—all of them. We didn’t think it worth the trouble turning around to become independently wealthy. She was black and she didn’t like white people. That’s not saying much because she hated everyone in the restaurant the same.