Of all the things I never expected to overhear on H Street, a conversation about turkey burgers would be one. I was prematurely headed back from SoVa, my current haunt of choice due solely to its proximity, because a group of ladies decided to bring their work meeting to the table right beside me, and my headphones weren't loud enough to drown them out. When it's quiet as a library, what makes you think coming in and disrupting the peace is going to ingratiate you to anyone, I haven't the slightest. But I digress...
Turkey burgers. I'm walking down the sidewalk, and a guy is coming toward me, talking on his cell phone. The first words I catch are "my turkey" and "that's what I do with my turkey," and I think, well that's odd. As he's passing me, I hear, "Well, ya know, then I usually put my turkey burgers in the wahrma (warmer). But I messed around and served that Mutha F*@#er two raw-ass turkey burgers!" Although unable to suppress my ensuing grin, I managed to get passed the man standing at the edge of the Auto Zone parking lot before bursting into an audible guffaw. I didn't know the people in this neighborhood would even come within a two block radius of a turkey burger. However, they were raw-ass thereby making them Hood Accessible. Thank you, stranger, for my Monday bliss.
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