obtuse

“You know I would say she’s like on of those new cigarettes… the ones where you squeeze the base and with a click the cigarette transforms from a regular cig into menthol. You know which ones I’m talking about?”

I nod. I don’t look at him. I completely miss his expression. My attention is focused on the job at hand, sawing at the rock-hard slab of steak placed before me. “Yeah I don’t get that. Why would you spend MORE money on a box of those things when you wind up paying LESS either buying a pack of regular cigarettes or a pack of menthols? If you ask me, it’s a gimmick.” I wave my fork at him. “A fucking gimmick.”

He pauses. “I don’t think you get it man, that’s not the point here. This girl… I can’t figure her out. One minute she’s totally cool and we get along and the next, she’s this total bitch.”

I shove a glob of mashed potato specked with pieces of corn into my mouth. I hold up a finger indicating for him to wait as I chew my food. He drums the table with his fingers anxiously peering out the window. I wash my bite down with some cold milk; wipe my mouth with my napkin.

“So what are your thoughts?”

I smirk. “I think the food here is horrible.”

“No dumbass, on this chick?”

“Well what you’re saying here, I think what your implying is that a regular cigarette is somehow better then a menthol… like a regular cig is something amazing and great and menthol is horrible, or vice versa, and you know what? I really don’t mind either to be quite honest with you.” I poke at the steak again. “Hey could you pass the salt?”