One of my favorite things in the world. I like my falafels piping hot on a bed of cous cous, hot sauce, with lettuce, and avocado on the side. I don't really like my falafels in a pita, because I think it dulls the falafels' flavor. The restaurant where I get my falafels from (sorry, there aren't many falafel stands in Chicago) also makes a falafel burger. I get them sometimes with their delicious yogurt sauce. But the mouth fuck I get from the veg-balls can't be compared.
So there I was, standing in line at Walgreens, a bottle of orange juice and a box with the acronym e.p.t. stenciled across it in my hands. The orange juice is there to make me feel better. This is no big deal; just a city girl buying orange juice and a pregnancy test. There's an old white-haired lady behind me with a tube of KY Jelly and tampons. Okay.... In front of me is a middle-aged man, looking jolly with chubby red cheeks. "Hurry up," he barks to cashier, "I left my car running." Well, so much for jolly. It was my turn. I manage to stop my hand from shaking long enough to put my things on the counter and pry my wallet from my handbag. I paid and fled. Jan's waiting in the lobby of my apartment building, chatting up my doorman. When he spots me he frowns. "Oh, look at you, honey," he says while hugging me. "C'mon, baby, let's get this over with." I smile, comforted by his genuine concern. When Jan's being comfort, his acc...