The sun was setting behind the western part of the city, over the church steeples and endless rows of townhouses. "Hungry yet?" Spook grinned at Scott. "Hungry? I got a case of the munchies that won't quit. Let's eat." Scott's taste buds were entering panic mode. "Good," the Spook said as he lit up another joint on the street car. "Let's eat." He hastily leapt off the slow moving vehicle. Scott followed him across the boulevard and dodged cars, busses and bicycles. They stopped in front of a small Indonesian res- taurant, Sarang Mas, ably disguised with a red and white striped awning and darkened windows. "Ever had Indonesian food?" "No, well maybe, in New York I guess . . ." Miles dragged Scott into the unassuming restaurant and the calm- ing strains of Eastern music replaced the city noises on the street outside. The red and white plastic checkered tablecloths severely clashed with the gilt of the pagoda shaped decorations throughout. But only by American tastes. Sarang Mas was a much touted and reputable restaurant with very fine native Indonesian chefs doing the preparations. "Let me tell you something," the Spook said. "This food is the absolute finest food available, anywhere in the world, bar no idyllic island location, better than a trip to Hershey, Pennsyl- vania to cure a case of the munchies. It's delicate, it's sweet, it's taste bud heaven, it's a thousand points of flavor you've never tried before." The Spook sounded like a hawker on the Home Shopping Network. "Shut up," Scott joked. "You're just making it worse." "Think of the oral orgasm that's coming. Anticipation." The waiter had appeared and waited patiently. It was still early and the first seating crowd was two hours away. "Do you mind if I order?" "No, be my guest. Just make it fast food. Super fast food," Scott begged. "Ah, let's have a couple of Sate Kambings to start, ah, and we'll share some Daguig Goreng, and some Kodok Goreng and ah, the Guila Kambing. And," Spook looked at Scott, "a couple of Heinekens?" Scott nodded. "And, if there's any way you could put that order into warp drive, my friend here," he pointed at Scott, "would appreciate it muchly." "Very good," the dark skinned Indonesian waiter replied as he scurried back to the kitchen. It still took half an hour for the appetizers to arrive. Scott chewed up three straws and tore two napkins into shreds while waiting. "What is this," asked Scott as he voraciously dove into the food. "Does it matter?" "No," Scott bit into it. "Mmmmmmm . . .Holy shit, that's good, what is it?" "Goat parts," the Spook said with a straight face. Scott stopped chewing. "Which goat parts?" he mumbled staring over the top of his round glasses. "The good parts," said the Spook taking two big bites. "Only the good parts." "It's nothing like, eyeballs, or lips or . . ." Scott was gross- ing himself out.