Eat where I eat

Cheap dinner places can hide unsuspected habits. There is such a place in downtown, behind the church, in front of the city court. I sit at the extreme of the balcony, wich goes on to the toilet doors. Jambalaya, of course.
Behind me, a bum asks for the keys of the toilet. I get satisfied as the clerk handles it making no questions, what an open minded place. I get curious as the key had a piece of timber attached, the size of an arm.
My meal comes, and I ask for condiments. The bum finishes his work and goes away, leaving the keys on the balcony, just beside me. The onions are perfect, I like them very soft. I have no idea of why, but the clerk suspects something sinister and goes to the toilet. I admire the colors of my dish, blending together calmly. As the clerk opens the door, he smells, sees or steps something and rushes to the street. The pepper sauce is rosy, but strong. A scream comes from the street: “Do you do that on your mother´s house, you piece of shit? This is a place for people, you abnormal! Don’t ever come back, or I’ll rip you off!”. As I sip the stock, a very sour taste of tomatoes bites my papils. I think the bum threw shit on the ceiling, the place is not pretty. My spoon has strange marks. Now I understand why that wood was linked to the keys. It not only serves for the keys not to get lost, it is a club also. The meats seem to dance on my plate.
I ate my whole meal, of course. I never saw that bum again, and will never know what he did. I do enjoy jambalaya, of course.