It’s a trendy, popular place, and it's always teaming with regulars, friends of regulars, or victims of cheap hand-painted advertising. The falafel stand sits beside the Bakery - another famous haunt in the Annex. While they may have separate ownership, the Falafel joint owes much to the Future dynasty which holds sway over the entire corner of Brunswick and Bloor; it is a juggernaut that draws many primates from the surrounding trees. They come for the people, and they grow crazy with the smell of blazed fat and sweaty meat.

There’s a patio at the Bakery, and on any Monday night you can spot a pretty, prescribed portion of humanity lurking there. They’re young, trendy, and hot for sex in the most obvious way. There are rules that govern the wicked carnivory that takes place here. But given this wide and arbitrary boundary things are quite juicy and explicit. Dicks scream hard, bellies hang out, tits flop, lips sparkle with cheap liquid plastic, and every one is ready to fuck like the species is in danger. Without that singular motivation we never would have left the swamp, let alone climbed trees or discovered how to craft huge knives, bras, dildos. There are a lot of happy people here, each one just inches from the kill; throbbing, excited, and ready to salivate on anything close to what they expected. Buncha pigs, really. But loveable in that squeaky-pink, slippery & tight kinda way.

That reminds me of the way she sliced the meat. She’s ugly, and foreign, but man does she know how to put a knife to meat. I’ll ask for whatever hasn’t been cut recently, just so that I can watch her hesitate, calculate, and then grab that simple arm of metal and apply it to the fatty meat spit. Beef or chicken; both yield freely to her methodical cut. Moving that steel blade back and forth with direct intent, she sheers off shards of fat-soaked meat for me to eat. A bit of Arabian love, close to the heart, the thigh, and with so much tasty lipid. It’s hard to describe in appropriate detail. Of course I’ll have hot-sauce: anything to make the whole process take longer, to have her linger while the fat boils and runs down that goddamn spit.

Just under the flesh, lava runs hot and the ancients hunt each other and multiply. Teeth, saliva, and blood are almost always exposed here, and the limits of consumption are only occasionally shouted in panic between gulps.