on repeat as I finish getting dressed and head downstairs.
On the table, there’s a plate with some type of egg on, is that bread? It is! Well, it was before I desecrated the yummy, still warm slices of toast in two swallows. I don’t even remember what the eggs tasted like, and it’s a shame really, because someone took the time to painstakingly make them over easy to perfection. I’ll let you have one guess as to whom the chef was, and I’ll even give you a clue: she doesn’t have a penis.
“How’d you make the bread?” I inquire of Olivia, who appeared as if I conjured her with a thought. I truly am curious for her answer, since our head chef Leonard hasn’t figured out how to make it without the old staple ingredients.
“Flour, condensed milk, dry yeast, water, salt and sugar,” Olivia answers like she’s reading off of a mental recipe, and maybe she is. Either way, she’s a fucking genius.
“And the eggs?”
“Nest out back,” she replies. That sours my stomach a little. “It was abandoned, I checked. Not that it mattered anyway.”
It obviously mattered to her, since she made the effort to check first, but I don’t mention it. I’m just glad that the stomach crisis was averted. Would have been a waste of amazing bread otherwise.
“It was delicious, so thanks.”
Olivia nods and that’s that. Well, at least I thanked her this time, so it’s a start. Maybe we can even become acquaintances who pass pleasantries someday? Yeah, you’re right. That’ll be likely when hell freezes over. Actually, that analogy no longer works on account of the wheezing bastards, so how about when pigs fly? Yup, I’ll stick with that one for now until I’m proven wrong.
Leaving the silent chick in the kitchen, who is currently making good on her earlier plan for a manicure at the next stop, I start readying my equipment. Holsters are buckled, boots triple knotted, and rain slicker in place; I then stuff my cargo pockets full of the expensive cutlery in the kitchen.
It’s some high quality shit that’s made to last. Instead of being attached to the cheap plastic like most other sets have to keep you buying more of their same shitty product, these ones are a single solid piece of sharp metal for a blade and widens to form a handle. My guess is that they’re Japanese made due to the even weight distribution designed with precision cutting in mind. I don’t think that the manufacturer included a warranty guaranteeing their ability to take out a wheezer, and that’s a damn shame, because these babies are ideal for throwing.
I’m raiding cabinets to see if there’s anything else we can use when John walks in with arms full of goodies. It looks like he raided the medicine cabinets in the bathrooms, since there are bottles of pills, band-aids, gauze and rubbing alcohol in the mix. Plopping the stack on the counter, he makes his way over and sinks a cheap shot in my gut while my hands are full. Cans of food are immediately dropped to clutch my poor abused stomach that’s threatening to upchuck breakfast.
“Cheating bastard,” I gasp out.
“Fuck you,” John spits at me. “That wasn’t anywhere near what you deserve, you low blowing prick.”
“You know better than to fuck with me in the morning.” Standing straight, I meet his gaze with murder in my eyes. “That goes double when you get between me and my coffee, especially Dunkin’s.”
“Touché,” is the muttered response.
“Are you boys done, or do you need to have a time out?” Turning to face Olivia’s dry tone, she continues. “Because this house has plenty of corners for you to kneel in, and vent your feelings, if you aren’t. On the down side, that would be a waste of daylight, so maybe you should just kiss and make up already, that way we can move on?”
“We’re good,” I answer and John nods his agreement.
“Splendid, I so wasn’t looking forward to bending either of you two giants over my knee.”
Leaving us with that
On the table, there’s a plate with some type of egg on, is that bread? It is! Well, it was before I desecrated the yummy, still warm slices of toast in two swallows. I don’t even remember what the eggs tasted like, and it’s a shame really, because someone took the time to painstakingly make them over easy to perfection. I’ll let you have one guess as to whom the chef was, and I’ll even give you a clue: she doesn’t have a penis.
“How’d you make the bread?” I inquire of Olivia, who appeared as if I conjured her with a thought. I truly am curious for her answer, since our head chef Leonard hasn’t figured out how to make it without the old staple ingredients.
“Flour, condensed milk, dry yeast, water, salt and sugar,” Olivia answers like she’s reading off of a mental recipe, and maybe she is. Either way, she’s a fucking genius.
“And the eggs?”
“Nest out back,” she replies. That sours my stomach a little. “It was abandoned, I checked. Not that it mattered anyway.”
It obviously mattered to her, since she made the effort to check first, but I don’t mention it. I’m just glad that the stomach crisis was averted. Would have been a waste of amazing bread otherwise.
“It was delicious, so thanks.”
Olivia nods and that’s that. Well, at least I thanked her this time, so it’s a start. Maybe we can even become acquaintances who pass pleasantries someday? Yeah, you’re right. That’ll be likely when hell freezes over. Actually, that analogy no longer works on account of the wheezing bastards, so how about when pigs fly? Yup, I’ll stick with that one for now until I’m proven wrong.
Leaving the silent chick in the kitchen, who is currently making good on her earlier plan for a manicure at the next stop, I start readying my equipment. Holsters are buckled, boots triple knotted, and rain slicker in place; I then stuff my cargo pockets full of the expensive cutlery in the kitchen.
It’s some high quality shit that’s made to last. Instead of being attached to the cheap plastic like most other sets have to keep you buying more of their same shitty product, these ones are a single solid piece of sharp metal for a blade and widens to form a handle. My guess is that they’re Japanese made due to the even weight distribution designed with precision cutting in mind. I don’t think that the manufacturer included a warranty guaranteeing their ability to take out a wheezer, and that’s a damn shame, because these babies are ideal for throwing.
I’m raiding cabinets to see if there’s anything else we can use when John walks in with arms full of goodies. It looks like he raided the medicine cabinets in the bathrooms, since there are bottles of pills, band-aids, gauze and rubbing alcohol in the mix. Plopping the stack on the counter, he makes his way over and sinks a cheap shot in my gut while my hands are full. Cans of food are immediately dropped to clutch my poor abused stomach that’s threatening to upchuck breakfast.
“Cheating bastard,” I gasp out.
“Fuck you,” John spits at me. “That wasn’t anywhere near what you deserve, you low blowing prick.”
“You know better than to fuck with me in the morning.” Standing straight, I meet his gaze with murder in my eyes. “That goes double when you get between me and my coffee, especially Dunkin’s.”
“Touché,” is the muttered response.
“Are you boys done, or do you need to have a time out?” Turning to face Olivia’s dry tone, she continues. “Because this house has plenty of corners for you to kneel in, and vent your feelings, if you aren’t. On the down side, that would be a waste of daylight, so maybe you should just kiss and make up already, that way we can move on?”
“We’re good,” I answer and John nods his agreement.
“Splendid, I so wasn’t looking forward to bending either of you two giants over my knee.”
Leaving us with that
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