Chips

chips[c]alphabetcitypress

It’s unseasonably hot, an October long weekend Indian summer. The beaches and pools are going to be crowded today, but I’m staying in the cool indoors, safe from the throngs. Days like today, the smell of chips emanates from every seaside kiosk, an unpleasant aroma unless you are the one eating the chips, in which case you are immune to the malodorous deep-frying fat. The chips on offer here are a little removed from the beach, though. I like the hand-drawn writing, outlined in gold, set within the bounds of those colourful lilac and yellow lines.