Knives
and Forks
by
He
picked up my icewater and I cut into the cheese danish with a beige plastic
knife. He was about to put his mouth on my straw. He does that.
The shared straw thing.
--Drink your wife's water, I said.
He got up from the little table, his face in a spot of light
that was recessed into the ceiling. They all have the same lighting, these
coffee places.
--Don't you think a good scalpel leaves the friendship
intact? he said, still fucking with my cup.
--It's not really cheese, I said, looking at my fork.
Not cheese as I know it, and I've never been to Denmark, I said.
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