“What a damn shame,” starts Blackhardt. “That’s a waste of a solid meal.”
Darkwood licks his lips and slowly reaches into his coat. Blackhardt follows suit and reaches into his.
“No funny stuff. Let’s keep it cool.”
“I’m cool. I’m cooler than a chalupa on ice, baby.”
“Oooh,” says Darkwood. “Kitty’s got claws.”
The two men slowly withdraw their hands from their coat pockets. Blackhardt’s Cheesy Potato Burrito is met with a Crunchwrap Supreme.
“That’s a hell of a piece you’re packing there, Darkwood.”
“We going to settle this like gentlemen or do I gotta get rough-and-tumble?”
Darkwood’s question finds itself being answered as both grown men start slowly eating their respective meals with passionate salivating chewing. Their eye contact never wavers, never breaks, heck, maybe even grows sexy as the cacophonous sounds of crunching echoes throughout the little Chinatown apartment.