The steaks were fatty. Musette kept looking over at me while I was eating, asking if I liked it. She seemed convinced that I didn’t. She was eating her food faster than I was, which is a rarity. I usually whoof mine down. It’s a habit that I’m not so proud of. So, you see, I can understand why she was concerned. It took me forever to chew through the meat. That’s the thing. It was like eating gummy bears, but harder. Chewier. I wasn’t going to be spitting anything out though. I needed everything that I could get. It’s not every day that I’m presented with a steak dinner. Not even close. Maybe when we get to my parents’. Something like once a week there. Either that or hamburgers, pot roast, manicotti. Not the worst part of moving back. I think that’s why I was so much smarter back then when I was a kid compared to what I am now. I used to work Einstein equations out in my mind, filling journals with really active bloomings. And reading, so much reading. Book, after book, after book. Not so much pain in my back and neck back then. Sports such as soccer and lacrosse keeping the energy coursing healthily through. Debate tournaments. Decca nationals in California with the soon to be husband of my spotted Mexican dream.
She kept asking if I wanted her to cut up my meat. I kept telling her no. It was, like, getting on my nerves. I was happy to have the protein. I just wanted her to let me eat my special meal in peace.
We had juices for the schmiggies. I was happy about that. We’d gotten two Tsunami flavors. They’re the cheap, most popular types. We got a berry one and one called Luscious. I’m a little concerned about the berry because that’s the flavor they say most likely to contain the chemical that gives people popcorn lung.
Oh well. Live and let live. You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do in situations like this. Beggars can’t be choosers. You’ve just got to get by sometimes. Hopefully it’s enough juice to get us home on. I’m not so sure. The bottles are ten milliliters instead of the fifteen that the Space Jam and Lost Art ones we’ve been getting are.
But oh well. Beggars can’t be choosers. The deal was two for ten. You’ve got to take what you can get in this life.