[After a Vietnamese pho dinner at Nam Son by the Grand St. station, DOUG and I ride the packed D train home at about 8:00 p.m. on Monday night. We each have one earbud headphone in and are listening to the Shins loudly on DOUG's iPod. We are also reading this week's Tables for Two review of Maremma in the New Yorker.]
DOUG: I could not eat rocky mountain oysters. As a man, I just couldn't do it.
ME: Really? Someone once told me those beef balls in pho were testicles, so I really think I could make the leap, mentally.
[Pause]
Wait, am I talking really loud right now?
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