Searching for Snails

Today I trekked through Chinatown on my way home from work. I was on a mission: Find snails for a coworker. With the multitude of live creatures present in any given shop, I figured it should be no problem.

I scoured the live animal stores, grazing past decapitated fish bodies of every size and shape, their heads tossed haphazardly on adjacent tables. Live fish gasped for breath in shallow bins as their eyes bulged in desperation. There were frogs larger than my face, crabs enough to feed five, turtles bigger than basketballs waiting to meet their fate. Examining the floor inch to inch, I discovered slime and seafood galore—but no snails.

Then walking down Stockton empty-handed, I pulled the headphones from my ears and tucked away the music. I listened, to the chatter of Chinese and the scurrying to gather the night’s dinner, bargaining for greens and seeds and berries. I saw shop owners tucked behind their cash registers, deep in a forest of cheap goods, waiting. The coalesce of the chaos, the calm, buses passing in transport, people waiting to go where they needed to get. I watched. All I wanted was a snail.