>The Garage.

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“Woah. Woahhh,” Brian and I laughed as our dad revved the motor scooter towards the wall in the garage of our home in Taiwan. He was always the jokester, pretending to drive us into the wall.

Whenever we headed to the garage, we knew were going to have a good time. Our dad would take us around, sometimes to his work place and other times to his friends’ house to play cards. But no other place was more exciting than when we go down to the local taiwanese sausage vendor man. Mom would always yell at dad for spoiling our appetites with these dirty, junk foods. But taiwanese sausages with raw garlic were my dad’s favorite. He and the taiwanese sausage man were probably on a first name basis.  I never could understand how he could eat a piece of raw garlic just like that. I did without the garlic. After a short conversation with Mr. vendor man, we’d hop back onto the scooter and ride back home. “Don’t tell your mother,” he’d tell us as we pulled up to our parking spot in the garage right before dinner.

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