Across the shores of grass,
A secret sits, run down and old,
Beneath the starry mass.
It waits till dark, then comes alive.
A beacon in the night.
And those within the privilaged know,
Flock to its twinkling light.
It has no sign, just flashing bulbs
On walls of peeling paint.
Most wouldn't look a second glance,
Or even call it quaint.
But deep within this tiny shack
Awaits a glorious sight.
The best late snack you'd ever taste.
Called, "Tacos At Midnight."
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