Chicken Momo

Walking along the street in plain sunshine, feeling slightly hungry, being dragged just by coincidence into an inconspicuous little restaurant called Tibet Café, I ordered chicken momo just because I liked the name.
The smiling lady said: wait 15 minutes and so I did.
It smelled good there. They have a large image of the Dalai Lama, also smiling. I watched out the window: we’re open. Slow beautiful streetcar. Someone crossing the street. Sunshimmer. I have time. I exist. This is it. I understand the sense of it all.