The meat spits a clear froth that sizzles when it hits the plate.
“That’s my favorite part,” I say, grinning up at her, then hovering my nose over the slab of porterhouse. “Butter and blood, mmm, I would die for thee..”
She rolls her eyes and jabs at her eggplant. “Yes. That’s exactly what you’ll die from, Chris.”
He listens to the rain’s ceaseless beat. Every now and then a car whishes by and quickly fades into the night. The rain hisses against humming electric lights, dissipating against the hot neon lines, squares and circles. These shapes mean nothing to the man, just words he never bothered to learn. He often says he’ll make the effort one day, but he knows he won’t.Read More