74

LONDON

We had tacos at a pretty nice tacos food cart.

“Why you didn’t take me here before?” I was halfway through it and still had one on the plate. “This is really good.”

“I don’t know if your father will allow you to eat something from the food cart.” He took a huge bite but ensured he wouldn’t mess up his suit— a pretty new and good gray suit. He then followed with a soda.

I loved watching him eat like a soldier and didn’t care even if someone was watching him.

“Don’t look at me like that, baby, or you’ll regret it later.” There you go, the hint of mischief in his smile.

“How did you find this?” I ignored his warning. I was looking forward to that night, though, and what a few days more we couldn’t wait.

“This is closer to Langston. Zee, you haven’t met him. He’s a Muslim. The owner of the food cart is Arab. So, he’s safe to eat meat here. We used to come together.”

“Arab, but he sold Taco. This is so good.” I was already on my second. “We should do this—”

“Every Tuesday?” He laugh