A potato on a stick. Fakebelieve crab sushi, vanilla ice cream with gummi bears and colored sprinkles was the dinner my fifteen year old niece enjoyed as we slowly walked from truck to truck. She washed it all down with a bananna strawberry smoothie and checked out the boys.

I bought a bottle of water and admired the expertly applied graphics. Color and design were each battling to declare their culinary specialty. My sister bought something, but knew I wouldn’t eat anything from a truck.

On the way home we stopped at a 24 hour drug store, I bought brownish, pinkish quick dry nail polish and a small bag of potato chips which I finished before I walked up the four flights of stairs to my apartment.