Pool_2

"Jeez, John. We have crack babies up to our asses. Most of them are abandoned. I can’t imagine any single citizen taking that on. Anyway, babies with checkered backgrounds are impossible to place. There isn’t anybody I know who could handle that kind of commitment." "Just a thought." "Fillet of sole. No butter, please," Mina gave her choice to the waiter. "And the mister?" "Do you have rat knee osso bucco?" "Oh yes. The children’s special. How would you like your vermin, sir?" Mac was crest fallen at being bettered by an obviously attentive waiter with his own edge. "Uhhhhhh, hold the rat, they’re better on ice anyway. The Pepper Creole.., no, wait, uh, give me the Suppa da Pesce." "With black noodles?" "Oooo. Mmmm, no, the regular," as John was muttering, "What’s a black noodle?" then, "This." John held his menu forward, pointing, unsure how to actually say what was spelled out there. "Good choice, sir! Good choice." "It’s good?" "No. Good choice, not trying to pronounce it." Dinner was the usual swirl of family oriented discussions, old jokes reframed, and political banter. Staring at an empty stool at the far end of the bar, a connection was made as Marcus broke a brief pause, "Hey, John," while waving a squid tentacle dangling from his fork. "Never touch’em."