Heading inside the store, I stand beneath the air conditioning unit situated just above the entrance. Holding my arms out either side of me, I groan as if in the throes of climax, such is the pleasure of the cold air blowing onto my puny, white body. I’m not as puny as I used to be, though. Beer and donuts have seen to that, not to mention all the sitting around trying to write, malarkey. Blinking the sweat from my eyes, I’m about to make my way towards the back of the store where they keep the muffins and toffee when my phone rings. Removing it from my pocket, I see it’s Meeko.
“Where are you?” she asks.
“I’ve just got to Judy’s.”
“I’m sorry for earlier” she replies, “I was hungry, and I think I’m due on.” She sounds sincere. Sincere Meeko is always a good thing.
“You don’t need to apologise,” I say while wiping my face with the back of my shirt.
“What’s inside the fridge?” I ask, and then comes several seconds of muffled noises before she presses the phone against her ear again.
Groaning, I open my wallet to see what money I’ve got.
“What’s inside your wallet?” she says as if reading my mind.
“Not much” I mirror.
“How much is not much?”
“Enough to get muffins and toffee, but not much else. Maybe some milk.”
“Why toffee?” she asks suspiciously. I don’t think it was something she’d ever known me to show an interest in.
“No reason,” I say.
“You’re lying” she responds. “Tell me why you’re buying toffee.”
I hesitate for a second, wondering whether or not it’s wise to tell the truth or go with a lie. I decide to be truthful. Looking over my shoulder, I make sure no one’s close by before replying.
“Because it reminds me of the taste of your pussy.”
There’s silence—a certain type of silence that tells me she’s processing the information I’ve given her. It’s not the angry type, however, and this at least tells me I’m not in trouble.
“You never told me it tastes like toffee?”
Her voice was softer than usual.
“I didn’t think it was something I needed to bring up.”
“Why were you thinking about what it tastes like?”
“Just one of those things,” I say.
“Why do you think I taste like toffee?”
“I’ve no idea,” I say, “it’s not a bad thing, though, is it?”
“I guess not.”
“You’re not annoyed, are you?” I ask.
“No” she whispers, “I’m just trying to think why I taste of toffee.”
“Do you need me to get anything else? I can pick up some milk if you want?”
In between my question and her response, I can tell she’s smiling. Not one of those big toothy smiles, but something a little more subtle. The kind where the corners of her mouth turn up, showing the slightest hint of gum.
“I don’t think so. No, no milk. Be quick” she says, “I’m getting hungry.”
“What will you do until I get back?” I ask.
“Shower” she replies, “now hurry up. Love you”, and with that, she hangs up.