Grand gesture of solid carbs

I got doughnuts the other night before what seemed like a musical love child of the E.T. soundtrack and songs of Oompa-Loompas. T was interested in the musician who was not only performing but put the whole thing together at a place called Ham and Eggs downtown.

It came after checking out Chisme y Queso put on by members of the Center Theatre Group. The experience entailed improvisational skits inspired by chisme, which means gossip in English, written on the back of promotional coasters by people in attendance of a quaint bar in Boyle Heights. The reward for the most tantalizing gossip included tickets to a showing of Into the Woods, bottle of wine and a gorgeously giant wheel of cheese (one of those that can be easily melted over food and more conveniently consumed in slices cut straight from the plastic casing).

After a few rounds of applause-influenced evaluation for the winner, D won the prized package of goodies with his poignant piece of chisme. Unfortunately I missed the reenactment of his writing because I stepped out for a cigarette with T and was lured to dance in Mariachi Plaza by an elderly woman. She was dressed in a turquoise blouse, eggshell cardigan, denim shorts and comfy brown leather boots. It was like my spirit animal could tell the smoke was a mere distraction from being enticed by cumbia blaring from a stage that held a modest dj Dunkin sticker 2stand. Moving the crowd to dance from the stage was a short bearded man with a knack for strumming his güiro.

When we returned to Eastside Luv, we caught the last round of chisme and participated in the judging the winners of previous rounds. While D won the main prize, second place went to V, which was an inevitable consequence given his fantastic talent in storytelling. I don’t even think my story bit was pulled from the large plastic container holding everyone’s pieces of gossip. It didn’t matter. My mind was on doughnuts and I knew Ham and Eggs was just two storefronts down from a Dunkin Donuts. After a slight detour of foosball and some more dancing, we left Boyle Heights and concluded the night with a grand gesture of solid carbs.

half dozen mix

As though movement between leaves
on branches could be illustrated
so gracefully by the hissing and
whistling of changing winds, off
to the right at the end of parallel
lines of monstrous trees is a
doughnut shop convenience store
with a doughnut sculpture of equal
proportion to the branched greenery.
Through the glass doors walk a gentleman
of a husky frame and one of a six foot
skeleton whose narrowness provided
structure for billowing pants and
pocketed dark purple cardigan.

The scent of fried dough rushed
through the nostrils as frosting
oozed off of doughnuts lain on the
metal rack. Both men approach the
register quietly but carefully eye
the display. The cashier approaches
the register after tossing a large
coffee filter in the trash.

Cashier: What I can I get for you?

The two remain silent.

Cashier: Hey, I said what can I
get for you?

The narrow gentleman reaches into
his sports coat pocket and pulls a
small gun and points it at the head
of the cashier who remains frozen
but expresses the same demeanor.

Cashier: I have no money in here.
We’ve just opened for the day.

Narrow: Just give me a fucking
half dozen mix of whatever you
think we’ll eat and hurry up! You
clearly have some baking to do.

The cashier whips a box from under
the register, eyes glued on the
gentleman brandishing the gun.

Cashier: What kind?

Husky: Did you not hear him? Just
put whatever in the box so we can go!

Narrow: Hold the fucking glaze. I said
to get what he thinks I would like
not just whatever.

Husky: Can we not do this here?

Narrow: Don’t jump into my conversations
then, you dumb fat fuck.

Cashier: Please, please, I give you full
dozen for you to stop calling each other
names and using such awful language.

Narrow: Get on with it then!

Husky: Guess it helps to jump into
conversations.

The narrow gentleman pulls the trigger
and punctures the wall parallel
to the counter.

Narrow: It really doesn’t.