I'm sitting at a communal food stall in China or Chinatown with a food writer & some random patrons. Some old ladies bring over huge bowls of noodle soup & ladles some out for us. The writer gets something pieces of "white chicken", tastes them & gets this disgusted look on his face & spits them out. I laugh & ask him to describe it and he can't seem to find the words. I tease him about being a writer, "Use your words." I dig into my noodle soup as more ladies bring up more plats of fried goodies.

I walk into a quiet library and see the food writer & others studying in silence. I head over to a table & look through a binder full of used paper. All the pages & collated haphazardly & I get tired of sorting through them.

I head over to a small fridge & begin digging through it. I take out a few takeout containers to throw away. A guy sitting nearby looks astonished and asks me how I know they've gone bad & I just give him a knowing smile. I see a bunch of packages of noodles & noodle ingredients& I turn to the food writer & smile, "These are definitely yours, huh?" He can't hear me because he has his head partially shrinkwrapped in plastic.