I order a burger. But she brings me a milkshake. I ordered a burger, I complain. We stare at each other. Don’t tell me what to do, she says.
Tagged: Food (993)
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She says, What would you do? I bite into an orange and savor it. Does my answer matter? I ask. We gaze at the sky together. Toward infinity.
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She says, Try this cheese. She puts it in my mouth. I say, This tastes like my underarms smell. She says, Just about. And then she kisses me.
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There is nothing in the fridge. There’s nothing in the fridge, I say. She throws money at me. Maliciously. I don’t want to live, I announce.
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The blind man touches her face. He explores it slowly with his fingers. You’ve had work done, he says. You’ve been eating Chinese, she says.
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The food was burnt and this reminded me of other things, repressed memories and feelings. I said we’d get a pizza. Covered with unhappiness.
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I grew fat. Or more fat. One day my wife looked at me as if for the first time. When did this happen? she said, as she served up more pasta.
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I clip all the tasty sounding recipes and I boast about having them. But we complain we have nothing to eat; it’s easier to order in anyway.
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We got into a pointless argument at the burger joint. I don’t have a beef with you! I yelled, stupidly, because this caused widespread panic.
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We stand in line at the bakery, waiting for our daily bread. Remember mixed tapes? she says, and we talk about that and order the sourdough.
