“Yeah, and ‘eating lunch’ is one of them. Come on.”
We have to search high and low. For about two seconds. After a doleful and dramatic goodbye from Seth, who Ben assures me he’ll see again before the week is out, we’ve walked fifty feet and are still talking logistics—do we walk? Do we drive? One car or two? Where are we going, anyway?—when loops of LED lights begin to dance around the word “Open” in the window of the tiny Thai place on the alley.
“It’s a sign,” I say.
“Santa wants us to have Thai food.”
“We better do what he says.”
There’s a great clatter of bells when he pulls open the door. He stands aside to let me enter, then follows me into what appears to be someone’s walk-in closet furnished with four two-tops, a cash register, and a photo of the king and queen of Thailand, p
