Date with the Night

quiz

  We’re sitting across from each other in a Quiznos on fifth avenue, her with the Chicken Caesar and me with the Pesto Turkey bullet. I’d originally suggested Alfredos – “They do a mean beef tenderloin” – but she’d said it would be way too pretty woman for her to be able to keep her food down.

  “Anyways, I’m a vegetarian,” she had added with a smile. I had grinned and opened my mouth but she held up a hand and stopped me before the pun formulating in my brain even had a chance at life outside the womb: “please, no a hooker that dislikes meat? incredulity, I’ve heard it all before.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I’d said, only slightly wounded that I was far from the first person to stumble upon the hilarity.

  So now I’m sitting across from her, the girl with the cervix tattoo, the vegetarian prostitute, as she digs in to her poultry infused salad.

  “Uhm-“ I begin, attempting tact with the smallest of syllables.

  “I’m pollotarian,” she says quickly, a mock tone of defence heavy on her voice. She’d seen this coming since she noticed my cocked eyebrow upon her order.

  “Pollowhatnow?” I ask.

  “It’s not about indignation for the poor moo-cows,” she says, delicately popping  another forkful into her mouth before smiling, “circle of life, y’know? I eat chicken, just no red meat. That stuff is bad for you, bro.”

  I nod. “Want some of my bullet?”

  “Sure,” she says, leaning across the counter. Suddenly I’m nervous that she’s going to get all sultry with the sandwich, perform some sort of oral sex act on it and get all seductive. She doesn’t. She takes a bite and proffers me some of her salad in exchange. It’s pretty good.

  “This is nice,” she says. I’m not sure if she’s talking about the food.

  “By the way,” she announces later as we’re walking towards central park, our after-dinner cookies in hand, making our way slowly back to my apartment, “I offer a twenty percent discount if you make me come.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE:
And this wholly unexpected continuation wraps up the 10th week of Blame Per Diem. Here’s to another forty-two!

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~ by Joseph Blame on September 5, 2010.

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