You nod and shoot look meaning take Chris to girls to James. He passes on message with discrete
horizontal hand swipe to Pete.
'I'm going to make some -' Pete adopts silly voice.
'- Dinner.'
Chris calls from another room. 'Ok. Please don't fuck
around.'
Chris joins Frank outside for a cone. Pete gives you a
list of ingredients to find amongst the kitchen cupboards: "thyme",
"cayenne pepper", sage, "nutmeg", etcetera. You find the
"allspice" but not the allspice.
James grabs a beer from the fridge and suggests: 'Check
the microwave.'
Which is where you find the allspice, the "apple
cider vinegar" and a bottle of Vitamin D supplement pills. The
"freshly ground black pepper" and the black pepper are both in the
freezer. The ingredients are whisked in a bowl and the brown sludge bubbles.
James sprinkles season-all on chicken skewers and puts
them on the barbecue. Everybody stands around, watching the meat cook.
Frank sniffs a glass of whiskey: 'This is nice. I like
this.'
You dwell on whether you are, or at least consider
yourself to be, single. Three knocks on the front door, spaced apart. James
goes to answer.
James runs back: 'Get the fridge, get the fridge!'
Go time. Drinks skulled. Fridge shuffled out of its
alcove and twirled 90° left on one foot. You lean shoulder into door and push,
Pete and Chris at your sides. Linoleum tears on path to the narrow hallway. The
fridge blocks kitchen's entrance and something slithers without grasp at its
back.
Pete concedes: 'I might have used a bit too much
"pepper". Or not enough.'
Chris: 'What did I ask you to specifically not do?'
Pete: 'It said it attracted women aged between twenty
five and thirty.'
'I chose the other option.' You are drunk. 'Take Chris to girls.'
'The fuck?' Chris' snarl wobbles into tired smirk with a
head shake. 'Fuck it, whatever.'
Frank hands out swords and bottles of port.
You garnish with:
No comments:
Post a Comment