A very late entry for Microcosmos this week.
After six months on tour, DJing by night and eating at the best international spots, Kwon-Ace wasn’t looking forward to a meal at his Mom’s restaurant. The Brooklyn locals all liked the cheap little Chinese take-out at Hunan IV, but he’d build his image on authenticity and Mom’s General Tso’s mystery meat were anything but.
He still went though. He had to give his mom some love. But he made sure to dress down in case anyone saw him set food in the grungy dive.
“What the-?” Kwon-Ace stopped dead. The line for Hunan IV was around the block. His heart dropped when he looked up at the new neon sign above the same tired entrance of the storefront. KWON-ACE ‘S CRATE SPACE.
Elbowing his way in the door, he gasped. His treasure trove of vinyl records, laboriously curated, and scraped and scrimped to purchase lined every free square inch of the tiny dining space.
“You like?” Mom’s voice was as small as she was.
“Ma, my records. Those’re mint.”
“They’re doing no good sitting in your room. “ She squeezed him and he remembered to hug her back.
“Wait. Order up,” Mom interrupted.
She approached the order window and lifted up piled high with some sort of rice, fried pork and nondescript glaze coating the entire dish. He recognized she wasn’t serving the food on the classic Styrofoam plates of his youth. “My vinyl!”
“Don’t worry I wash them.”
“It’s not that, I need those.”
She pushed the food away from the records label to see its title. “You aren’t even going to listen to Ali and His Gang Fight Mr. Tooth Decay.”
“Geez. I may pull a sample from there.”
“Just stream it.”
He stood. Torn. He’d have to choose between the two loves of his life.