table, and I paused for a second to admire the handcrafted heart on top of my cappuccino.
I instantly knew I’d discovered my new hangover cure; the warm croissant was filled with oozing chocolate while the outside edges flaked off as they touched my tongue, melting like butter. The cappuccino warmed my insides as it washed everything down, accompanied by the added bonus of a caffeine jolt. I moaned, basking in the gloriousness of the warm, gooey chocolate. Andrew gave me a funny look.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” I warned. “Let a girl eat in peace.”
Andrew cleared his throat and stirred some sugar into his bitter, very tiny, cup of espresso.
“So, do you have plans for lunch?” Andrew asked. I gave him a look, partly because my mouth was full and partly because I was surprised at the question. I kept chewing and looked down at the remainder of my food in response.
“I mean real food,” he said . I did a head bobbing motion saying neither yes nor no. I then spotted Emilia across the street and waved. She headed in our direction.
“I should probably head back,” I said through a mouthful of crumbs. “I haven’t really set up my room yet.”
I swallowed and took another sip of the heavenly foam.
Andrew nodded. “Sure, well do you have a number? It’d be fun to meet up one of these nights, on purpose.”
Again, I was slow to respond. It was the c roissant; I couldn’t stop eating it. He took my response as a negative. “I mean, bring Emilia, bring whoever, it’s just that none of us really knows anyone here.”
“No, absolutely!” I swallowed again. “I mean yes, but no I don’t have a phone yet.”
“Ok, well-” Andrew began.
“Hey, guys! Dana, wanna head home? I have a Skype date I need to make,” Emilia said.
“Sure.” I got up and hurried out behind Emilia, waving goodbye to Andrew. Maggie must have wandered off somewhere, I realized after getting on the metro.
We disembarked, and I dragged my feet into the apartment complex. Emilia flounced in ahead of me, the picture of well-rested and energized. I admired her endurance. I crawled under the sheets of my bed and closed my eyes.
I was just drifting off as I felt a piece of paper under my fingers. It was crumpled and showed signs of dried sweat, but nevertheless I could make out the name Giuseppe and a foreign phone number. I rolled over and realized the bartender from the previous night had given it to me, and I must have slept with it clenched in my hands. I lifted up my pillow and saw a pile of scattered European change. The left over cab fare. I had been so exhausted coming home I didn’t even bother to let go of the phone number or the cab fare!
I closed my eyes and slept.
When I awoke, it was dark out. I heard Emilia cluttering around in the kitchen as I reoriented myself with the world. I slowly shuffled in and joined her. I peeked over her shoulder and saw an array of lettuces, grains, mushrooms, all sorts of tasteless, green healthy things.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Emilia didn’t even look up.
“Whatcha cooking?” I ignored her comment.
“Vegetarian quinoa salad.” She glanced at my cupboard, which was bare except for my last container of Pringles from America. “It’s healthy .”
“Right.” I grabbed a muffin from the counter.
“So, did you hear from Andrew about tonight?” Emilia asked.
I stopped chewing. “What’s tonight?”
I swallowed.
“Le Banque,” Emilia pronounced in a
I instantly knew I’d discovered my new hangover cure; the warm croissant was filled with oozing chocolate while the outside edges flaked off as they touched my tongue, melting like butter. The cappuccino warmed my insides as it washed everything down, accompanied by the added bonus of a caffeine jolt. I moaned, basking in the gloriousness of the warm, gooey chocolate. Andrew gave me a funny look.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” I warned. “Let a girl eat in peace.”
Andrew cleared his throat and stirred some sugar into his bitter, very tiny, cup of espresso.
“So, do you have plans for lunch?” Andrew asked. I gave him a look, partly because my mouth was full and partly because I was surprised at the question. I kept chewing and looked down at the remainder of my food in response.
“I mean real food,” he said . I did a head bobbing motion saying neither yes nor no. I then spotted Emilia across the street and waved. She headed in our direction.
“I should probably head back,” I said through a mouthful of crumbs. “I haven’t really set up my room yet.”
I swallowed and took another sip of the heavenly foam.
Andrew nodded. “Sure, well do you have a number? It’d be fun to meet up one of these nights, on purpose.”
Again, I was slow to respond. It was the c roissant; I couldn’t stop eating it. He took my response as a negative. “I mean, bring Emilia, bring whoever, it’s just that none of us really knows anyone here.”
“No, absolutely!” I swallowed again. “I mean yes, but no I don’t have a phone yet.”
“Ok, well-” Andrew began.
“Hey, guys! Dana, wanna head home? I have a Skype date I need to make,” Emilia said.
“Sure.” I got up and hurried out behind Emilia, waving goodbye to Andrew. Maggie must have wandered off somewhere, I realized after getting on the metro.
We disembarked, and I dragged my feet into the apartment complex. Emilia flounced in ahead of me, the picture of well-rested and energized. I admired her endurance. I crawled under the sheets of my bed and closed my eyes.
I was just drifting off as I felt a piece of paper under my fingers. It was crumpled and showed signs of dried sweat, but nevertheless I could make out the name Giuseppe and a foreign phone number. I rolled over and realized the bartender from the previous night had given it to me, and I must have slept with it clenched in my hands. I lifted up my pillow and saw a pile of scattered European change. The left over cab fare. I had been so exhausted coming home I didn’t even bother to let go of the phone number or the cab fare!
I closed my eyes and slept.
When I awoke, it was dark out. I heard Emilia cluttering around in the kitchen as I reoriented myself with the world. I slowly shuffled in and joined her. I peeked over her shoulder and saw an array of lettuces, grains, mushrooms, all sorts of tasteless, green healthy things.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Emilia didn’t even look up.
“Whatcha cooking?” I ignored her comment.
“Vegetarian quinoa salad.” She glanced at my cupboard, which was bare except for my last container of Pringles from America. “It’s healthy .”
“Right.” I grabbed a muffin from the counter.
“So, did you hear from Andrew about tonight?” Emilia asked.
I stopped chewing. “What’s tonight?”
I swallowed.
“Le Banque,” Emilia pronounced in a
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