For those unfamiliar with the Choose Your Own Adventure book series, DO NOT read the following in order. Start with paragraph 1, then see where it goes. While mostly fiction, the locations here are real and highly recommended! Enjoy!
Paragraph 1
You awaken sprawled across the ornate stairs leading up to the sealed-off gates of the fortresslike Cranston Street Armory. Your back is stiff and your limbs are as heavy as lead. How did you get here? You recall fragments of a frantic battle against Jameson, the fabled jade dragon, and guardian of the castle. Somehow you survived and managed to escape the enveloping walls carved out of uncaring stone. The sun blinds you and is imposing in every sense of the word. The heat is menacing and your mouth is dangerously dry. It is the height of summer in the hamlet of Providence. This area feels familiar; you have heard the lore. To the left, they say, lies a roadside vendor with the finest horchata any mortal has ever consumed. To the right is a fabled frozen lemonade stand that is rumored to be the best in the city. Where do you go? For left go to paragraph 5. For right, paragraph 6.
Paragraph 2
It’s clear that this group has done battle with Jameson before, as the dragon’s elixir is their drink of choice for this celebratory session. They invite you to drink and before you know it, the world becomes a blur and you awaken back in front of the Armory. Return to paragraph 1.
Paragraph 3
la Braza Bar and Grill occupies prime real estate on a high visibility corner at 187 Elmwood Ave. Immediately upon entering, you feel misled. It’s not just a trendy bar dripping with Dominican flair, vitality, and music; it’s also a formidable restaurant with a varied menu displaying all of the best dishes from that nation. You order a Presidente beer and are still perusing the daunting amount of food when the bartender presents you with an option, producing a pair of six-sided dice from their pocket. If you roll higher, drinks and food are on the house. If you roll lower, you are invited to the dancefloor with them for a song. Their warm eyes and vibrant smile make it almost impossible to say no. At home roll once for yourself, and once for the bartender, re-rolling for any ties. If you win, go to paragraph 7. If you lose, paragraph 10.
Paragraph 4
You follow Hanover Street all the way down from Cranston Street to Dexter, past the humble tripledeckers brimming with working-class families. They hang out on their front stoops and cramped porches, basking in the oppressive humidity. The Dexter Mini Mart appears amid the similar looking homes as a small storefront advertising sugary sweets and savory delights galore. The cramped quarters could pass for any one of PVD’s many bodegas, but something behind glass, under a heating lamp by the register catches your eye. These pastelitos, or Dominican meat pies, are some of the best you’ve ever had. The fried outer crust is luscious and flakey, while the ground beef inside is perfectly seasoned. You take more to-go and walk back out into the glaring sun. Life is good here in the summertime, and couldn’t get much better. The end.
Paragraph 5
In the very shadow of the colossal Cranston Street structure, at number 342 is Orale Taqueria. This establishment manifests like a mirage before your weary eyes. It lies tucked in, both away and semi-obscured from the main path, and half concealed by chain link fencing. Legend has it that it started as a simple food truck renting space in an already existing auto repair shop around the corner on Dexter for years before. After attracting a loyal following, they simply transported the savory structure to a permanent location in a long-empty and unused lot. You approach the walk-up window short of breath and drenched in sweat. “Horchata,” you are able to mutter, producing the bits of gold still preserved in your pocket. The kindly woman in an apron, sporting a wide smile, serves you a plastic cup of a mixture that is an orgasmic melody of cinnamon, spice, and rice water, concocted into a frothy mouthful that immediately replenishes your desert-dry palette. Despite the delicious offerings on her menu, you must keep moving. Do you turn left towards a local tavern? Perhaps some hair of the dog will quiet this pounding headache, paragraph 8. Or do you turn right toward the diner where denizens are known to discuss local lore? Paragraph 9.
Paragraph 6
Frozen lemonade sounds downright delicious right now; your lips are grainy and parched. It’s a three-block walk from the armory to the Dairy King you’ve heard so much about at 472 Cranston Street. The structure itself is a tiny shack, and yet the line of customers snakes around the corner. It is, after all, the height of summer heat. You stand in line and patiently wait your turn while the sun beats down with its blinding glare. You peruse the posted menu of varied ice cream delights but land on their extensive list of flavors for frozen slush. This selection goes beyond any Del’s you’ve seen, with much more forgiving pricing. After much internal debate, you settle on the classic lemon by the time it’s your turn at the window. It doesn’t disappoint your dehydrated soul. Tart touches of citrus-utopia tango frolic on your tongue as you pontificate on what to do next. Do you turn left towards further sustenance in the form of food? If so, turn to paragraph 4. Or do you turn right and hunt down the hair of the dog that landed you here? Paragraph 3.
Paragraph 7
Your victory comes with consequences; the Presidentes and shots of Brugal rum come hard and fast. Before you know it, you’re getting woozy and things go dark. Return to paragraph 1.
Paragraph 8
Ogie’s Trailer Park at 1155 Westminster Street rings true to its moniker. The titular aesthetic reigns supreme throughout, even as one approaches. This cozy neighborhood hangout hosts kitsch, spirits, and comfort food in equal doses. You play it safe and stick with a Guinness as you occupy a seat at the bar. At a far corner table, a trio of jubilant partygoers wave you over for what is very clearly a drinking competition underway. At an opposite table you are beckoned by a mysterious stranger with kind eyes wearing a letterman jacket and hoodie. Do you partake in the drinking game, paragraph 2. Or see what the stranger wants, paragraph 11.
Paragraph 9
the West End Diner is a chromed-out Americana classic that is rarely seen these days. The above-ground, bunker aesthetic of the oldschool ‘50s diners is alive and well here; you’re convinced you’ve stepped through a time portal upon entering the crowded establishment. The smell of frying bacon hangs in the air, a siren song luring you in further. You occupy an empty space at the counter and start with coffee to jolt you back to reality. A glance at the menu is all it takes to convince you: pancakes. You hungrily tear in and it dawns on you that summertime in Providence does not get much better. The end.
Paragraph 10
Bachata is a sultry dance meant to convey all of the heartbreak and intimacy reserved for the most heated of affairs. A woeful wail oozes from the jukebox accompanied by twangy guitars. It has the soulfulness of American blues and the cadence of country music. You’re in love, whether with the sound or the silky smooth server. Summertime can be splendid in PVD. The end.
Paragraph 11
This stranger invites you to doodle something on their sketchpad. Do so at home. Or journal, or anything creative that makes you happy. And enjoy the summer! The end.
Illustrations: Oliver Lunger
