Deux: Soup For 2



Oh joy, today is Friday so that means I will have dinner at that restaurant down the street, the one with the big shiny sign, I can't wait to order the special of every Friday: the soup.

It is my favorite restaurant for many reasons, all the glares that welcome me every time I step through the door. All the time, those crystal glares, I can see through every single one of them, inside burning hate in their eyes, it feels like home.

I usually seat at the table in the very middle, on the table opposite of mine there is always the man in the gas mask, staring at right at me, I know he wants to start a conversation, I can see it on the heavy breathing and constant stare as he drinks his usual glass of water and eats the slice of bread he always orders.

Sitting on the table on my right there's the iceman frozen on his seat, staring blankly at the wall in front of him, but I know he stares at me, I know underneath that lair of ice there is a boy that was never born, but who am I kidding?

On the left there is this yellow dinosaur wearing some wacky hat, always eating the Friday special even when is not Friday, I hate him, every time he slurps as he eats the soup disgusts me, I don't really care if he looks at me, I never look at him either.

The waitress always takes a while to attend me, but when she does, she stares right down at me, smiling, waiting for my order, she says nothing, she just writes down my usual order, then she nods before leaving, I know what she writes in there, I know she can see right through my eyes and see what I really want, I don't even have to tell her my order, she knows, she already knows.

I can hear the screaming coming from the kitchen, every Friday, same screaming, same dialogue, but everyone ignores it, so do I, as the screams get louder, the man in the gas mask gets more nervous and more impatient, every time, once he snaps and slams his fist on the table the argument stops, then suddenly, the waitress comes out, carrying my order, she looks beat up, but I know she does not care, neither the rest do.

She places the soup in front of me on the table, and with that smile she walks back into the kitchen, and she is not seen ever again, I know the iceman wants the same, every time I order something I know he wants to order the same thing, but the waitress never comes back after she's given me the soup, so I can see him Friday by Friday die of starvation, I can see all of his ribs under the ice, I can see them being held together by the ice covering them.

And just when Im ready to eat, the lights go out, everything is pitch dark for about 3.4 seconds, when the lights go back on, the ice mean has melt down, and on the ground all the intestines, bones, and so on held together by the now melted ice are scattered on the floor, the same god damn liver ends up by my feet, I step on it in rage, squeezing it with my Italian shoes slowly, hearing the skin and the meat inside squeak as they rip apart, I can't never get used to that.

The gas mask man is the least but amused, as he turns his head away from the bloody mess, the dinosaur will usually just ignore everything and slurp that dammed soup.

Once Im done with the soup, a man comes out, dressed in a blue suit and a Kitsune mask with his hand out to me, he's got pale but thick skin, and no hair at all, waiting for the pay, I always give him a certain amount of coins of every type to please him, only the ones who usually eat at the restaurant know the right amount to please him, after that the man walks back into the kitchen.

After that I just get up and leave. Same thing every Friday.

Should I talk about the soup now? Nah, I don't have time, I got to get to the restaurant in time, because today is Friday so that means I will have dinner at that restaurant down the street, the one with the big shiny sign, I can't wait to order the special of every Friday: the soup.

It is my favorite restaurant for many reasons, all the glares that welcome me every time I step through the door. All the time, those crystal glares, I can see through every single one of them, inside burning hate in their eyes, it feels like home.

I usually seat at the table in the very middle, on the table opposite of mine there is always the man in the gas mask, staring at right at me, I know he wants to start a conversation, I can see it on the heavy breathing and constant stare as he drinks his usual glass of water and eats the slice of bread he always orders.

<p style="margin-bottom:0in">Sitting on the table on my right there's the iceman frozen on his seat, staring blankly at the wall in front of him, but I know he stares at me, I know underneath that lair of ice there is a boy that was never born, but who am I kidding?...

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