A conversation
I made us some eggs a few days ago, a mess of homefries and bacon. I splashed tabasco on my side of the dish.
N looks at me, twisting her mouth.
“What.” I say, sipping coffee.
She tastes my side.
“Mmm.” She says. “Why don’t you give me some tabasco?”
I am lost. “I thought you don’t like things that are so spicy.” I say.
“It’s not so spicy.” She replies. She makes that little smile, that half-sigh, half-laugh.
“So now you like tabasco?” I ask.
“I always did.” She says.
I roll my eyes. I look at this beautiful woman in her loose bathrobe, her hand on her knee, her foot resting against my ankle. I close my eyes, breathing in the scent of cold juice, the salt, the vinegar kick. That’s what the good times smell like, I tell myself.
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I miss those conversations, and those mornings.
Anyway, I’d suggest you follow Marco, but unfortunately he seems to be stuck in blogspot land. Which is a real shame, because he certainly deserves better readership.
Good stuff, whatever.
