The literati dines at Mr. Falafel

My parents were in town for the long weekend, and with my brother, sister, and sister’s boyfriend, we were eating at Mr. Falafel in Park Slope, one of my dad’s favorite places. Not long after sitting down, an older man approached our table.

“You probably were noticing us, and we were noticing you,” he began, referring to his dining companions behind us. He had a good delivery. It was slow and a bit mischievous–very effective for anyone who leads by saying he has been watching us. “We guessed that you are either in literature or in film.” Reluctant to disappoint him, we all paused for a moment and then admitted that none of us were in either industry. “Although he’s in TV,” I said, pointing at my brother. Nonetheless it was fun being mistaken for literary types at Mr. Falafel.