A Western Bagel store on a Sunday morning is a tenderfoot rodeo. The lines are long and unruly. The tenderfoots come for the bagels, and they make tenderfoot mistakes like ordering chocolate chip bagels and tubs of strawberry cream cheese. But that’s their problem. My problem is tenderfoots can delay my bagel consumption by up to an hour. That’s why we ordered ahead online. And by we, I mean Christina. She ordered the bagels. I cowboyed-up, mounted my hybrid horse, and ventured out into the Wild West that is the San Fernando Valley to pick up some bagels for breakfast.
After finding a primo hitching post for my hybrid horse, I moseyed past a line of tenderfoots, and bellied up to the counter, where a bad bagel hombre named Chico asked if he could help me.
“Pick up for Christina,” I said.
Then, with a cinematic flourish, I swept my homespun Mexican poncho over my shoulder, and put out my cigarillo on a half-eaten bialy.
“Sorry,” Chico said. “I don’t see your order. They must still be worki…
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