The grease is flicking its nasty finger at me and the stove flame looks dangerous. I don’t know where to dump the grease so I pour the cream mixture over the meatballs and the whole thing sputters and screams, hissing and spattering onto the kitchenette wall. The cream also globs on the backsplash, white and gooey and I think of c*m. The noodles are limp and pale, floating in a gray pot of water.
I’ve set two plates on my counter and laid my new cutlery. I consider adding napkins when the buzzer rings. He enters with very little fanfare and immediately I feel ridiculous, juvenile though I believe I am 10 years older than him. I realize I don’t know his name but can’t recall if he told me or not, so I am afraid to ask. He looks at my neatly-set countertop and very slowly raises one dark e
