Inauthentic

Olive Garden came to my hometown when I was about eight years old. I begged my parents for weeks to take me there. My family dressed up for a nice dinner out and happily waited twenty-five minutes for a table along with a dozen other Wisconsonite families overjoyed at...

The Portable Shrine

Pineapple juice dripped down the skewer and in the dirt of the shrine’s courtyard. I wondered if that was disrespectful. Inconspicuous in the shade of an old gnarly tree, I people-watched. Clustered groups of people chatted while children worked their teeth over...

One, Two, Three…

While perusing the streets before a neighborhood festival I spotted a pineapple vendor’s tiny booth between two hot food booths. It was 75 and sunny and I was sweating. A slice of skewered pineapple sounded heavenly. I happily forked over 200 yen, expecting...