Cobble Falafel

Is there any temperature better than a sunny 70 degrees? Not for me. I ate my lunch in Cobble Hill Park today, the sparrows and pigeons crumbing at my feet. Honeybees were working the round red flower heads of ornamental onions. I think this is the first time this year I’ve seen honeybees in the neighborhood. There’s a hive or two on a nearby Henry St roof from what I understand. A lone crow flapped south. One crow, as you know from your ornithomancy, is bad luck. I had a falafel from Damascus Bakery on Atlantic, where the house hottie makes ’em special for me, or so I like to think. She adds pickles and pickled red cabbage, unexpected tastes, and colors, for the cabbage stains the pita pink. Unfortunately, the chickpea nuggets are not fried to order, meaning the sandwich lacks the essential mix of hot crispness and creamy coolness. This keeps DB’s pocket sammy just outside the gates of falafel heaven. Still, I was happy, even without a second crow.