Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

What is This Fast Food From I am a Dirty Immigrant

What is This Fast Food From I am a Dirty Immigrant

We arrived at our destination and man was I confused. For one, it was fifteen degrees. My body was numb and my teeth chattered so hard I thought they would crumble. My toes felt like someone was poking them with needles every time I moved. I was definitely not prepared for this; no human could possibly be prepared for these frigid conditions. My tropical ass did not own a jacket, or anything warm for that matter. I looked out the car window. There were no bloody sky scrapers, no bustling streets, just a small town surrounded by mountains. The younger of the two gentlemen asked me if I was hungry and I told him I was. He pointed to a building with golden arches. I was confused. On the island, there were no fast food restaurants – just local restaurants that cater to the tourists. When he saw the expression on my face, he pointed out several other fast food restaurants along the side of the two-lane street. Pizza Hut – what was that? Sonic? – have no clue. I zeroed in on Kentucky Fried Chicken because it had the recognizable word “chicken” in its name. I did not enjoy the meal very much. It was way too greasy, and judging from the bland taste, I knew there were little or no tropical spices in it. After eating, the two men informed me they would take me to the basketball dorm. They made it a point to let me know that the one basketball player there at that time was black. I was a little baffled as to why it was so important to inform me of his ethnicity.

By Mr Giant

Me name is Anderson A Charles. I am a writer story teller and Podcaster and Youtuber. Also played basketball in college ( that's because I am seven feet tall.

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