#mysterybites

[ramniesweet]

Behold!! Mable Juice if she sold it at the Mystery Shack aka the Mystery Shack became a cafe for a week and called itself Mystery Bites!!

A silly thing I did while reeling from the fact that I got let go from my job through a text message

[sweetlvces]

‹ @mysterybit / penelope r. ›

—— after practicing for who knows how long, layla stretched her arms toward the ceiling before letting out a quiet yawn. “you know, i think we’ve done enough for now. what do you think?” she questioned, tilting her head to a side. “i say let’s do something fun. like go to a party or even a karaoke bar is fine with me. at least there’s drinks.” layla was always down for anything, but she wasn’t ready to go home just yet. the night was still young for the girl.

[serpentinefogarty-blog]

@mysterybit

Taking a seat down at the cafeteria table across from the dark-haired girl, Fangs offered a sweet smile, placing his elbows on the table and resting his chin in his hands. ❝ Hey, JB, ❞ he spoke to catch the attention of the girl in front of him. ❝ How are things? I haven’t seen you in a while. ❞ 

[thatmouthful]

Chinatown. Flushing, Queens.

Enclave-project-turned-grocery-tour. My fieldworkfriend decided to opt out of the herbal pharmacy, shouting "Buy something weird!" as I shuffled in alone.

Not too much love for the white girl as I poked my nose into everyone's mumified fish and potency powders business. I browsed the dehydrated aquariums of various underwater creatures, separated out by species into tall glass jars. They lined the long counter, each collection of shriveled carcasses as unidentifiable as the next. Small boxes of salves and herbs and vitamins crowded the shelves behind the counter; each package's neat gold scripts extolling their medicinal worth.

I smiled and opened my mouth in a movement to ask the tall, sharp-shouldered clerk a question- and was met with such an unwelcoming facial facade that I decided to continue exploring alone. I moved to a less threatening aisle.

Candy-shop cubbies of red pistachios, satsuma gummies, and ginger lozenges welcomed me, but I was strangely attracted to the "watermelon seeds".

Large, charcoal-rimmed, with light oak centers, they didn't look like watermelon seeds at all. They were more somber than the cheery treats in the surrounding bins; they looked elegant and ancient, as if a thick, rich lacquer had been rubbed off by calm thoughtful fingers, leaving only a rough, unglossed residue at the seeds' rough, sugar-velvet edges.

   I scooped some up as primary source academic research. The compressed pebbles clinked hollowly as I ran the large plastic grocery scoop through them and poured them into the plastic bag. I paid- 30 cents- and exited the shop triumphant.

I found my classmate lounging on a fire hydrant. He was pretty easy to spot- there aren't a lot of bearded vegans hanging around Flushing. He poked his angular face into the bag nervously as I offered him a seed. All I really knew about them was that they weren't made by "something that can love me" (his abstemic mantra). Or at least, I don't think they were. So we tried a handful together.

The seeds are too tough to bite through in one snap. With each laborious chew, a dry, salty, licoriceness adheres to the mouth's wetness. The flavor disappears and re-emerges as the fibrous clump is knawed on. The simple sugar and fermented heaviness sometimes mingle, sometimes allow the other to spotlight. Soy sauce, definitely, and anise, and sugar too, seeped into an earthy nugget of seed. Maybe pumpkin seeds? Way too large to be watermelon. We really couldn't figure it out.

"These are pretty good"

"Yeah"