I did more work than I thought I had, I guess. No complaints!
The guy was selling ribs of some kind; the stove was absurdly small, but he kept shoveling uncooked meat into one end and pulling spicy-smelling goodness out the other. He brightened when I approached. “Senor! Take a chance and try my delectable concoctions!”
“Sure,” I said. “Gimme one lunch or whatever you call it. How much?”
He kept talking. “You might be wondering how this marvel was done…”
“No, I wasn’t. One lunch. How much?”
“…but I assure you, no magic is involved! Merely the chemical knowledge of the ancients…” He finally stopped at the point, his eyes trying to focus on the money I was waving in his face.
“There we go. One lunch, please,” I said, enunciating each word. “Hold the spiel.”
Sulking, he gave me the lunch: a few boneless ribs, wrapped in some chewy bread, with rice to soak up the sauce. “It comes with a drink,” he managed.
“You got any lemonade?”
“Yes.” He brightened. “Only, it’s not actually made from lemons…”
“Does it taste like lemonade?” I interrupted him again.
“Yes.” The sulk was back.
“Good enough.” He gave me a cup of it; I sipped, and raised my eyebrows. It was good, but it was also cold. “Thanks,” I said, and turned.
“I used dry ice to chill it!” the guy almost yelled at my back. I raised my cup in acknowledgment, without turning.
This is a nicely written example of “show, don’t tell” as it applies to alien (foreign) culture.
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In this instance, the vendor values the spiel, the show, the showing off .. it’s something integral to his schtick. He’s not just selling a McRib (by way of Cin City) .. he’s selling the artistry of creation.
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And yeah, most days that’s something I’d have as little patience for as the Shamus.
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Mew