Indian food

over curry, bought at the slavers restaurant, a fact which he indulged us with before insisting that “the curry was still quite good,” he describes in delicious detail how two men found each other on a cannibalism website. One had a fixation with being eaten. And so they did. That pair. They started with his genitals. By the time the hot naan has arrived, his blue baby eyes are pondering the ironic fame of a girlfriend-consuming food critic in Japan. And the little devil inside me can’t help asking him what he thinks of texture of the spicy lamb. Friend to the left helpfully volunteers that the restaurant special reminds him a documentary on American prisons he saw recently.

Time to leave for the movies already? Sorry, I haven’t really touched my food yet…

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