I'm here. What do I do? What's your secret code? I texted. Silence. A slight panic. I have a theory about why street hawker food - the real ones, not the ones in a shopping mall - is so memorable. When I was younger, sitting amongst a sea of plastic tables and chairs open air, with sticky armpits, fearing someone might just come and knick the Nokia 3310, pushing adult pirated DVDs, and asking for donations, created this discomfort, this anxiety that makes you shout internally - WHERE IS MY FOOD?
I really, really enjoyed this.
So, so happy.