Chow Mein

“Don’t they just have Chow Mein?”

“They have everything, I’m sure.”

I scowled; the neon sign in the window said CHOW MEIN. For some reason I thought that was all they had. The kitchen made a cubic ton once a week and sold it by the bucket. You’d walk in and say “half bucket,” there would be a clanking of machinery, and the horrid phlegmy rattle of the Mein splorging down the chute into your pail.

Who Else?