The cherry atop the chocolate sundae was sinking. It drowned slowly in the white sludge of melting vanilla ice cream, a tragic death for a piece of fruit that had likely been preserved since the last decade.
Across the booth, Lia dug a long plastic spoon into the mess. She looked like a cat that had just cornered a mouse and decided to play with it before the kill. Short hair, cut just above her shoulders, framed a face that was pale enough to reflect the neon lights of the diner.
She was beautiful, in the way a poisonous flower was beautiful. You wanted to touch it, but you knew your fingers would turn black and fall off.
"You're staring," Lia said. The spoon went into her mouth. She didn't break eye contact.
"I am wondering how you can eat that sugar bomb," I said. I lifted my cup. It was a paper cup, filled with black Americano that tasted like regret. I was regretting it. Maybe some cream next time to make it smoother?
"It's 4 PM," I said.
