Monk's Indian Bistro Humble Novels & Stories

Quick, tell my ears, what color hemp sack do they like best? Blossom cannot stop laughing at her screen. My mind worries her body might actually pass out from the joy. As for her boastful digital display, my heart is torn right between exasperation and amusement. At seven sharp under the moon, our transports arrive at Myhill CrestHALL's grand Moonpeach Den. It is the absolute oldest, most characteristic, and priciest eatery in the entire territory. Many celebrity alphas and foreign pack dignitaries dine there during their official visits to the city.

So we decided that tomorrow we will shop for them as well as Divya. After Completing shopping we decided to have dinner in Pali Bhavan restaurant which is a very popular North Indian cuisine restaurant. I was observing that from the time both Shreya and Kary met they were glaring at each other. Now also they sat opposite to each other and glaring at each other. I shook Shreya and asked her. She shook her head in no and started having a meal.

"So this is in the top ten. Tomorrow we'll have dim sum in Chinatown, but it would be hard to talk there. Tends to get a little noisy and crazy." I couldn't complain about the small restaurant she'd chosen, although I did love a good Chinese dumpling. This one, though, was cool in a kitschy, throwback way: it was a little hole-in-the-wall in Haight-Ashbury called Aquarius, and the walls were covered in old stickers and photos from the days of the hippies. Groovy music-or at least, that's what Quinn called it-played in the background, and the wait staff all looked as though they'd stepped out of a documentary about the Swinging Sixties. "This one feels very San Francisco." I took a tentative

There’s a bag in his hands. A paper bag. And not just any bag. A very specific, orange-and-green printed bag with a little smear of curry oil on the corner. I know that bag like I know the birthmarks on my own butt. That’s Punjabi Palace takeout. “Peace offering,” Monty says, holding it up like a white flag that smells like garlic naan and emotional manipulation. My stomach, betrayer of the century, growls so loudly I swear the hallway echoes with its shame.