Page 54 of Bad at Love
Waiting to fall
Onto my tongue
Into my mouth
Coating my throat
Until I can’t breathe anymore
But it’s okay
Because death tastes sweeter
Than the world without you
I cock my brow and read it over. Romantic, I guess. Definitely morbid. It will do for now.
With the writing coming to a close, the muse having left with the last tendrils of sleep, I get up and start making myself breakfast.
Scooby is beating me to it, at the stove and making French toast.
“Morning, mon frère,” Scooby says to me, flipping the toast over in the pan. “Care for some French toast?”
“Bien sur,” I tell him, grabbing a cup of coffee and sitting down at the kitchen table.
“I didn’t know you spoke French,” he says.
“Just a little,” I tell him. “When I went to university in Berlin I picked up some German too.”
“You really are a man of the world aren’t you?”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t go that far. I live here, after all.”
“Yeah but LA is like the world of America.”
“I think New York is the world of America.”
“Did you know that LA is built on top of the third largest oil field in the country?” he says to me. “In the twenties, it produced a quarter of the world’s oil.”
I grin against the rim of the coffee mug. “I fear what would happen if you and Marina ever sat down and had a real conversation with each other.”
“You think we would be a good match, huh?” he asks, glancing at me over his shoulder with a twinkle in his bug eyes.
“Only in the fact that you both love your stupid facts.”
“Well sign me up, mon frère. She into short guys who ride bikes?”
I actually have to think about that for a moment. Eventhough we’re two fake dates in, I have no clue what Marina’s type is. I probably should ask her even though it could sting a bit if her answer is the opposite of me.
“I’m not sure,” I tell him.
“If she is, she’s in for a real treat. Tell her I’ll make French toast for her every morning. She’s into bees, right? Bet some of her honey will go down real well on this. It’s probably extra sweet.”
I can’t tell if he’s trying to be clever with innuendo or not.
“I always thought that maybe I’d be stepping on your turf,” he adds thoughtfully.
“What do you mean?”
