“I’ll bring them just in case,” the waiter reassures me with a wink.
That wink makes me want to die.
“Fine,” I mumble.
Across the table, Jameson is dishing up the pizza. I take my slice, taking a bite. But I don’t taste it, really. As Jameson moves onto talking about a movie that he’s seen recently, I’m wondering about his list of differences between us.
Are they really that great?
More importantly, can they be overcome?
I silently sigh, indecisive.