THE LUTHER BURGER!
Kamran: Apparently it’s named for Luther Vandross, who apparently loved these.
me: OMG!
Kamran: Do you understand what’s going on there?
me: Is that sausage or beef? ‘Cause sausage would ALMOST make sense to me.
Kamran: Beef. It’s a hamburger.
me: Bacon and cheese?
Kamran: Hamburger with bacon and cheese on a glazed donut bun.
me: Should we try it?
Kamran: No. Luther Vandross is dead.
me: Yes, but . . . I want to die having lived a full life, Kamran.
Kamran: A full life doesn’t require a hamburger with a glazed donut bun. Just like it doesn’t require shooting up heroin.
me: Then what DOES it require, huh?
Kamran: Might feel good, but it fucks you up.
me: Kinda like my love.
Whilst reading my dear friend caropal’s latest entry today, I was reminded of a day a couple of months ago upon which I wore a rather low-cut shirt to work and was very surprised to look down at one point and notice an unfamiliar mole on my chest. I spent the rest of the afternoon wondering how one could go her whole life with a dark black spot featured prominently on her front and never pay it any mind, and I became very concerned that I was missing other important features of my body. Like, say, an extra ear or mysteriously braided armhair.
I went home that night and stood in front of my mirror, just looking at the thing in unamused awe. Angry at it for confusing me, I took my fingernail and scraped at it, thinking it might be a weird scab of some kind. It came right off and left absolutely no mark behind, which confused me even more for a second before I remembered that I’d had some dark chocolate after lunch that day. I realized that a hunk of it must have melted and dripped onto my boob, where it lounged all day while my co-workers walked past it thinking, Wow, what slob.
So to enact revenge on it, I popped it in my mouth. Dee-lish.
