Panda Express: A Love Letter

The dim red glow was about as welcoming as it gets. That and the infinitely deep stare from the panda silhouette on the front of the building. The second “S” in the neon sign had a hypnotic flicker, it made the establishment feel dingy and cozy. A scent from a mysterious, and time old Chinese recipe wafted out of the doors through the cold and into my welcoming nose. This is what fueled Sun Tzu’s army. This is what turned Kanye completely mad. Double orange, half chow, half fried rice.

The paste that cradled the chicken could have been used as the adhesive to build The Great Wall. It’s sticky synthetic tasting goodness enveloped me making me momentarily full and happy. Lively conversations swirled about, politics, illuminati, love lost and the afterlife. The atmosphere was a catalyst for all things intellectual. The next president of the United States was eating a Panda bowl in the booth adjacent to mine. These are the building blocks of life. There are trace amounts of Orange chicken sauce on the Constitution.

After the last piece was devoured I felt an immense tiredness. I seemed glue to my seat, my arms glued to the table. I was talking to my friend though I can’t recall what about. I think it was a rather concrete plan to end world hunger, but I can’t be certain. I promptly stood up and staggered to the door. I walked dizzily back to my office and wrestled with heavy eyelids for the remainder of the day.

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