A Trip to The Butcher

We stepped out of the train, and my heart was screaming of excitement. I couldn't believe that I was finally in Kasan, Russia. Unfortunately, we had no time to look around, we were already late; we had to visit Boris’ family before dinner, and I’ve heard a lot of good things about the Nemtsov’s family recipes, and I was ready to shovel their delicious meals down my throat. As we left the train station I stopped and noticed the architecture, I did not expect Russia to have such beautiful and odd buildings! Several buildings had domes, which reminded me of colorful Bermuda onions. Boris noticed how mesmerized I was and let out a nodding smile, indirectly saying "Yeah, I know, pretty sweet, huh?". My head was up in the sky, it was an amazing moment. However, Boris brought me back to Earth and noted we had to pick up a few things at the butcher shop for his mom before evening. At this moment, I knew that the trip to the butcher would be very quiet on his behalf, he usually is a pistol, although he quickly tends to get stressed when he is in hurry. We made haste and went deeper into the city, as we continued I noticed a gradual change in the architecture; the roads were narrower, the shops seemed smaller and more peculiar. Some of the employees were sitting on plastic chairs in front of the stores, there was even a beautiful statuette of a swan, which felt misplaced because it did not belong in such an area. We headed towards a small building, which had a large yellow symbol, and I could recognize that symbol from miles away; it was the McDonald’s M symbol, however, everything after the ‘M’ was in Russian, but they couldn’t fool me! I wasn’t expecting to eat right away, and although I was hoping for something more exotic, I could certainly settle for a burger right now. We were standing in front of the building. “We’re here”, he said satisfied and relieved, as he looked up at the large yellow sign. “We’re here?” I parroted surprised. He smiled and said: “This is the best butcher, we call him ‘The Golden Eagle’.” “Why?” I asked. “He always gets the freshest meat, and much faster than the rest of the butchers.” We entered the shop, and Boris immediately greeted the butcher and began making orders. While they were talking, I noticed there was a small Asian man sitting on a stool in the corner of the shop. He appeared to be hammered, as he was attempting to open his Pepsi can with a screwdriver while humming a strange melody. I heard an abrupt groan from the butcher, yelling: “WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, CHINESE NEW YEAR? BACK TO WORK!” His breath filled the room with the stench of old garlic, I headed for the exit to catch my breath. As I looked at the buildings, and people, I realized I wasn't hungry for food anymore. All along, I was hungry for new experiences, travel, and excitement.