“If only there was a halal cart by the Graham stop,” is what we had been lamenting for so long. “Bedford gets taco trucks and falafel trucks and even a Mr. Softee, and we don’t get squat over here at Graham.” It’s true. You get out of a bar here and you want food. Your only options are to go back into that same bar you left and get food (and a drink, and be all rewasted again) or go to a corner store and get a gloppy crumble of sandwich. So we’d been wanting a cart, you know, an all-night stack-of-lamb cart for those silly after-work mingles that turn into midnight trumpet shows.
Well, we got our halal cart and no one ever goes to it. Its cookers sit empty, its condiments are unsqueezed. Just a bummer box of quilted aluminium. Soon it’ll snow all over the cart and the cart will look double lonely. I sometimes pass by and want a gyro but there doesn’t even seem to be a shawarma in there.
Good luck, little carton. I’ll miss you when you’re gone.