tales from hotdog stand

make meat mysterious again

It was four in the morning. We had just returned home. With work a mere five hours away, I was attempting to pass out. Drunk, in our shared two room flat I could hear the physician crooning in the next room. It was one of his late night classics.

Hotdog man, hot dog man, he’s big and he’s mad and he does what he can…

We had just encountered one of the most bitter people that I had ever met. The hotdog vendor just down the street from us. I had purchased his wares many times before. Hotdogs. Mystery meat.

I’d never really spoken to him though. I knew he worked all hours. It was as though he never slept at all. He was always there. Around his stand there were photos of children, presumably family member. There were bills - currency from around the world. Finally, he had some sports memorabilia to make it seem like home.

I spent a lot of time imagining what it would be like to be this dude. On this night, I no longer had to imagine. On this night, I didn’t have to ask either.

On this night, …