Yes, yes, we're in a city of 12 million people with innumerable fabulous restaurants, but sometimes you just need a Snickers bar (or its Korean equivalent.) Or some Häagen-Dazs. Or (in Mr. Logical's case) a beer. And when the mood strikes, where do you go? Right. You go to 7-Eleven, mere steps across the street from our temporary quarters and shoehorned into a space roughly the size of my utility room back home. It's a perfectly good 7-Eleven, though, and it has everything that a convenience store shopper could want or need. But one thing has been waking me up in the wee small hours of the night, and I know once you see this bag, you, too, will be wondering about it:
I know, I know, it's killing you, isn't it? Me too. I am just dying to know, and I promise to post as soon as I learn the answer to the burning question: What's the pig about?