The Only Shop Worth Living In

Asian supermarkets are one of my favorite rooms in any city. Frozen things nobody in the West has named. Vegetables that appear to have avoided translation entirely. Soda at the checkout in flavors that seem to exist only within these four walls, as if brewed exclusively for people willing to seek them out. Every time I walk into one I genuinely cannot figure out why I don’t just live there—or at minimum go every single day and eat my way through whatever’s strange and good.

Cleared out the one at Alexanderplatz this afternoon. Leni’s coming over and we’re going to destroy all of it.