The professor loves cashews. In truth, this is true. I wouldn’t tell you it was if it wasn’t.
Now, here is an interest.
In the PL’s America, there is an eatery called Cashew City. You can only imagine how excited the professor was when he found the place.
The building looks more like a hotel than an actual eatery. Four revolving doors spin around to reveal a lobby-store that sells already packaged and flavored cashews. The dining room is located above the lobby and is reached by a wide twisting staircase.
Despite the fact that Cashew City sells only cashews, it is packed day after day, dawn till dusk—which is an interest.
There are two reasons for this, I think.
Firstly, it seems that Punchy Landers have an inexplicable love for cashews. It is a strange integrated attribute that can’t be rationalized—so I won’t try.
And, secondly, practically any imaginable style of cashew can be bought in Cashew City.
Cashews range in size from jumbo cashews (about ten times the size of a regular cashew) to petite cashews (about a quarter the size of a regular cashew).
Flavors range from teriyaki, tomato sauce, and honey barbecue, to chocolate, watermelon and mint.
In fact, Cashew City offers so many different flavors that not even half of the list could be recorded here. Suffice it to say that practically any flavored cashew can be ordered.
Isn’t it remarkable?
It is rumored that Cashew City is owned by a person who goes by the name of Eoppers. But that person has never been seen. It’s a rumor; and rumors, can’t be verified. (I should really post about the inexplicable abilities of rumors at some point.)
But, anyway, I digress—slightly.
On one particular day, while I was eating at Cashew City, I was joined by a tall, muscular fellow, who had blond hair and such bright blue eyes, that it made the professor regret leaving his sunglasses at home.
“Care if I join you?” the man asked as he sat.
“No. But did I have an option?”
The man leaned forward.
“There’s always an option.”
Then he leaned back.
“My name’s Mark Malone,” he said. “You may have heard of me.”
He looked hopeful about the prospect, but I had to answer in the negative.
“Never have,” I admitted.
Malone waved his hand. “No problem. I am an ex-soldier, an ex-secret agent, and an ex-all-around-law-man.”
“Is there anything you’re not an ex of?”
Malone laughed good-naturedly. “Of course. Lots of things. What have you accomplished in your life?” he asked.
The question caught me off guard. “Umm…well…I…uhh…am a professor.”
Thankfully the professor was saved. At that moment, we were joined by A. Furber.
“Sweetie,” she said to Malone as she found a seat, “I’ve been looking for you. I have such an important…job.”
Malone raised both hands—seemingly in self-defense. “I appreciate fully, Ms. Furber, the honor of a person of your significance seeking my services, but I must decline. You see, I’ve retired.”
Furber laughed—a very odd laugh. “You’re too young to retire, sweetie.”
Malone looked thoughtful. “Well…I have had the luck to be successful early. And in my profession, the earlier you retire the better for your health.”
“You know, sweetie, I don’t take no for an answer. I will have my way.”
And then Furber departed.
Malone chuckled. “You see, Professor, I have to stay hidden, or I’m attacked for jobs.”
I nodded. “Very…vexing it seems.”
“It is. Anyway, are you looking for a job?”
I shook my head. “No, no.”
“Hmm…well if you ever are. Contact me. I’d like to work with you.”
Malone handed me a slip of paper and then was gone too.
“Next time,” I said to myself, “I’ll see if I can’t eat in a more private place.”
Anyway, PF, do you like cashews?