It’s a mini-mall, two long lines of stores facing each other on two levels with parking in the middle. To me, it’s one of the least attractive shopping centers around—it looked like a child’s play set, girders bolted together, corrugated metal sheets painted clashing colors. The Lobster Garden was a touristy Chinese restaurant on the upper level. The very sexy Chinese girl behind the podium wore an incongruous happy face nametag attached to the shoulder of her tight red cheongsam that read “Hi, I’m Treasure.” We showed her our ID and asked if we could talk to her. “Here?” “You could get us a table, and then come over when you get a break,” Akoni said. “All right. Follow me.” The centerpiece of the restaurant was a huge fish tank filled with live lobsters, their claws tightly banded together. Grandma and Grandpa from Des Moines could walk up to the tank with their waiter and decide which of the spiny creatures crawling around on the bottom of the tank would become that night’s dinner.
