I had time on my hands, money in my pocket, and things on my list. The first thing I did was stop one of the girls walking up and down the hall.
“Where are the best pork buns in town?” The girl was carrying a black patent-leather bag with matching shoes. I figured if anyone knew about pork buns, she would.
“Fifteen hundred,” she said.
“Maybe later,” I said. “Right now, I need pork buns, the best. When you go out for pork buns, where do you and your friends go?”
She called over one of her co-workers, frilly white blouse and her hair done up in a tight bun. Very fetching, but not what I needed. The two spoke between themselves for a moment.
“You want both? Twenty-five.” The black bag swung provocatively.
“Listen,” I said. “When I need to kill myself, I’ll call you first. Meantime…”
“I know,” she said, “pork buns. Rua da Barra, not far. It’s a place called Mama Nhi’s. Pretty good.”
An older girl walked up. “Keep it moving,” she said, and looked at me. “Either buy or don’t buy.”