Winston-Salem Revue, Page 2

350-foot-tall (107 meters), 90-foot-deep (27.4 meters), 220-foot-wide (67 meters) Winston pack o’ cigs building next to a same-size Salem pack o’ cigs building. Then, exactly halfway-up, an over-alley connector could be the requisite dash.” Or, would it be a hyphen?

  “Yeah, that would have been interesting, Parkaar – a real tourist attraction, no less. But, how would the reverse side of those cigarette-pack buildings be imaged?” So keen she is.

  “Oh, you’re right, mahal. There’s a dilemma there. Would they switch the package fronts? Or, would they just leave them blank? Or, paint/label the respective package backs on the buildings?

  “Well, it’s academic now, 33. I really doubt that they would be built today. You know how cigarette smoking is now frowned upon.” Yeah, she’s right.

  “No doubt, 32. Such would have had to have been built prior to the early 1970s – before the prevailing cigarette-smoking sentiment changed in this country.”

  On the other side of West 3rd Street, the public way’s name changed to Park Vista Lane. We walked up to West 4th Street and turned left. In just two blocks we had arrived: the Mellow Mushroom of Winston-Salem. Our readers are going to think that we are working for this gourmet pizza outfit. But, I just know that Monique is craving another Thai-dye pizza. I wouldn’t mind a couple of slices myself.

  “Yey! You knew just what I wanted, mahal!” Monique exclaimed at the front door.

  Act IV: Eats and drinks.

  It wasn’t too crowded in the corner building (at North Marshall Street). We were quickly seated and ordered our favorite to-date, pan-Asian pizza. The curry-chicken-cucumber pie was on our table ten minutes later. I chased it down with a local porter beer (forgot the name). Monique just had a red tumbler of ice water.

  “Monique, would you happen to have any GOLD cards [business-card coupons for free downloads of my 2013 e-novel Gold, a summer story] on you?”

  She opened her large brown handbag and started checking the zippered compartments. Thirteen seconds later she handed me a one-centimeter-thick (0.4 inches) stack.

  “Thanks, mahal. I’ll hide a few.”

  “Hide them?” How does that help?

  “Semi-hide them. Delayed discovery, remember?” Gosh, what a feckless book-promotion method.

  “Is your alternative technique working, 33?”

  “Well, it’s been downloaded over 3,500 times on that one website; over 5,300 times in total. It just takes time.” He’ll be in the grave before it gains any real traction. / At least by the time I die, thousands will have been exposed to – and mentally infected by – it, versus just a handful if it was a book on a shelf.

  Monique devoured a couple of slices. She then handed me the crescent-shaped crusts to eat. Man, I love their dough.

  After clearing her plate, Monique looked at me. “Ok, what’s our next stop, Agent 33?”

  “Foothills Brewing, Agent 32. It’s just a few blocks down West 4th Street. Their Jade IPA is killer! It has won awards.”

  En route to the brewpub, on the now-crowded sidewalk, we spotted a late-20-something African American lad in a red Liverpool FC jersey (Origi) who was walking a small dog. Wonder where they watch Liverpool matches in this burg.

  I gave a thumbs-up just before passing him. I was still wearing my black Liverpool FC t-shirt, which had a large, white, iconic liver bird on the front and ‘The Pride of Merseyside’ on the back. Nevertonians [sic] be hating me.

  Monique then yelled to him: “Yey! We won!”

  He just nodded, smiled, and continued heading east.

  The mood inside the taproom was college-hoops festive with many sky-blue UNC shirts. It was Final Four semifinal Saturday, and both South and North Carolina would be playing later (against Gonzaga and Oregon, respectively). Such a splendid day, worthy of bottling.

  The Jade IPA was indeed as good as the last time I had it (in the NoDa area of Charlotte, I think). However, the People’s Porter missed the mark this time. A wanker-clanker. [sic] Should have stuck with Jade.

  I switched back to Jade. Monique then had a Carolina Strawberry, a cream ale brewed with local strawberries. She liked it.

  We just relaxed and slowly sipped our brews while taking in a perfect spring day in the piedmont. We got a wee inebriated, but neither of us acted the April Fool.

  Having knowhere [sic] to go (and all day to arrive), neither of us monitored the time. Well, not until we heard a cell-phone chirp. It was now 5:45 PM. The afternoon sure has flown by. And now it’s almost time for the first basketball game.

  “Want to check out Second & Green Tavern, Monique? It’s a sports bar. I saw it on Google Maps. It’s very close to here.”

  “Sure, mahal. Let’s let our adventure continue.”

  We walked down West 4th Street for three blocks. Then we turned left onto North Green Street. In a bock and a half, we had arrived at our destination.

  I grabbed the door handle. Wonder what this place is like.

  “Well, here we go,” I told Monique as I opened the door.

  We were greeted by stares and even some glares from an apparently locals-only, standing-room-only bar room. Hmmm … not exactly what I was hoping for. They must know that we’re out-of-towners.

  We made a perfunctory loop around the wooden tables, but there were indeed no seats to be had. Thus, we just politely slipped out.

  Once outside, I turned to Monique. “I think that they knew we were from Charlotte this time.” I laughed.

  Monique wasn’t amused. “Hon, they were staring at me, up and downing my body with their eyes. I don’t like it.”

  We backtracked to West 4th Street. At the corner of North Spring Street was a classy Italian eatery: Quanto Basta.

  Monique looked very intrigued. “How about a little Basta pasta to finish off our outing, Parkaar?”

  “Sure, asawa.” [wife in Cebuano]

  It was a charming little Italian restaurant. Our young Caucasian waiter was first-class. We ended up ordering a flatbread seafood pizza. It was divine. Pizza twice in one day. And both were winners. / Those clams were sarap. [zesty-tasty in Tagalog]

  I splurged on an $8 bottle of German dark beer. The Ayinger Celebrator Doppelbock was delicious. Too bad this beer costs so much. A case sure would be nice.

  We paid up 27 minutes later. We left the waiter a generous tip and, par for the curse, [sic] a GOLD card. He looks like he reads. And, I bet he likes film noir. Maybe he’ll like the erotic passages, if nothing else.

  “Well, Monique, do you just want to watch the basketball games in our hotel room?”

  “Sure, that’s fine by me. But, let’s stop somewhere for bottled water. I think we’ve had enough beer.” Depends on what beer the store has.

  “There’s a Mobil gasoline station with a convenience store on the way back.”

  “Ok, Parkaar. Lead the way.”

  We walked down a vacated North Spring Street for three blocks, and then made a soft left onto Brookstown Avenue. A block and a half later, we were walking under the Business Interstate 40 / US 421 freeway. It was almost dusk. Glad we’re passing through here before darkness falls. Looks like a good place to get rolled. / I can tell that homeless people live under here. Maybe some really bad guys, too. Where is my pepper spray? Oh, there it is in the side pocket.

  We walked past High Street, noticing our hotel on the hill. Then we made a right turn onto Cotton Street SW and passed by Machine Gun Graphics (left) and a dialysis center (right). Holey renal decals. Why’d I think that? / Where in the world is he going?

  The road soon ended at a vacant parking lot. We were then staring at a hillside that was covered with tall grass, ivy and kudzu. The Fairway One Stop was at the top, some 60 feet (18.3 meters) upslope. There was a faint coyote path that wound to the summit.

  “Ready for it, hon?” I asked Monique.

  “Can I make it in these boots? They have heels.”

  “I think so. If it gets too hard, I’ll carry you.” Yeah, right!

  “No, that’
s ok; we would both fall down.” Possibly.

  We then slowly marched up the verdant incline. It wasn’t too treacherous. In a mere four minutes, we were in the store.

  The beer selection was about what I feared: lame as hell – all macro-swill. Thus, we just bought some bottled water and white cheddar popcorn. Probably had enough beer anyway.

  “Who’s winning the game?” I asked the rotund, 60-ish, African American cashier.

  “I don’t have time for TV,” he tersely replied. Ok. Moving right along.

  We descended the viny slope safely, just as the sun dropped behind some bare trees. We were back in room 601 right as twilight permeated the mild air. What a nice walking excursion. / I’m so glad that we made it back safely. I hope he doesn’t want to go out again tonight.

  Act V: A Nightcap.

  We watched the two games together. Gonzaga would fend off South Carolina, despite a gutsy comeback from the Gamecocks. North Carolina would barely survive against Oregon, despite missing their last four free throws. The Ducks just couldn’t buy a rebound at the end.

  After the games were over, we looked at the lighted buildings off in the distance. The completed-in-1929-just-before-the-crash Reynolds Building caught our eye. Multicolored floodlights pulsed, illuminating the terraced crown of the smaller-scale Empire State Building.

  “Those lights are a nice touch, Monique.”

  “Yes, it’s lovely, bana. [husband in Cebuano] Did you get enough material today for another short story?”

  “Probably more than enough, honey.”

  “What will be the theme?” Searching for significance in an