Written c. 2016.

Myers had just left a date at a restaurant three blocks down before he even got to the entreés on the menu because the girl, Linda, had asked him to leave. That surprised him because it was not her house but a restaurant and he could stay as long as he liked. What surprised him even more was that he complied. Without much thought, he had left the restaurant, and now he followed every green light on the street with no destination in mind. In fact, he had nothing in his mind other than lingering thoughts of hunger.

As he turned a corner, the large, open windows of a building distracted him from his walking and he peered in to see women in gowns, men in suits, and a banquet table dressed in an array of foods. He decided to go inside. He pushed open the revolving doors that glimmered with gold and his own reflection as they spun to let him in. He slipped out of them at the right moment – which was great because he usually had a hard time timing that sort of thing – and stepped into the folds of glamour that were in full swing. 

There was jazz playing,  but Myers didn’t really appreciate jazz as much as everyone else, so he didn’t feel like dancing. He also hadn’t been invited to whatever this was, so he thought dancing would not be a good idea, even if the music had been something to his taste. 

He strutted to the banquet table and looked at the bounty before him. He had to admit he didn’t recognize a lot of the food but he knew all of the Meats and some of the prettier stuff seemed kind of familiar as well. He thought about grabbing a plate and piling it up, trying to pretend that he was part of the invited group. However, the tables were clearly designated for certain people because they had little numbers sticking out of the flower bouquets and if he chose to sit down at one of them without a number, the whole order would be thrown off and he would be exposed. With this observation came Myer’s fear of this being a wedding, which he would feel really bad about. He scanned the room, looking for a bride or a groom, but could find no such couple. He felt comfortable once more.  

He felt that his best shot was to take the food to-go. Myers looked over his shoulder to make sure that he wasn’t being watched. There was only an old lady whose skin seemed to loosening and drooping like a basset hound’s and that made him almost lose his appetite – but he was way too hungry at this point. Turning back to the table, he considered his options. Of course, the deliciousness of  the Pork Chop, juicy and tender and glistening. He reached a hand down and plucked it from the platter, feeling the oil soak into his fingertips. It would take too much time to dab it dry so he skipped that part and stuck it right into his pants, tucking it between his belt and the small of his back. It was still dripping. 

He immediately regretted the decision to put the Pork Chop there. He had two perfectly good pockets, but he guessed he would save those for other food. The Crab Cakes also looked good to Myers, crunchy, and he was a big fan of that texture. With that in mind, he grabbed a few of those and plopped a couple into his pockets and the rest down the sleeve of his suit jacket. He had to hold the end of the sleeve in his hand to keep them from sliding back out. But that was okay because he didn’t think he’d be here much longer. 

He wanted another real Meat for leftovers. There was Steak and Pork Belly but he wasn’t really in the mood for those. Then he saw a piece of Grilled Chicken – Dark Meat – and he decided that was the last item he would take. He used his free hand and reached over all the other food, wrapping his fingers around what he thought was Chicken. But as he lifted it from the plate, he felt it ooze against his palms. It was slimy and he didn’t like that. He wanted to put it back but the damage was done, so he shoved the gooey thing into his jacket pocket. Finished, he wiped his hands on a napkin and felt a presence behind him. 

As a deep voice sent booming words through smooth lips, Myers turned to face the speaker. Myers had never been the kind of man who could distinguish one suit from another, but as he stood in the shadow of a tall Oxford man in loafers and a seemingly untouched ensemble, the second-hand … third-hand… nature of his own suit suddenly felt very apparent. His eyes travelled from the man’s polished shoes, up his lint-rolled suit, and to his gentle, geometric face, that was not frowning, as he expected, but smiling. 

The man had come over to converse with Myers and he felt that it was the least he could do considering the amount of food he had taken for himself. The man was rather curious about Myers. He asked his name and where he was from. Myers answered all the questions, but his thoughts were not with the conversation as much as with the Pork Chop that was beginning to slip from his belt and down his thigh. The oil was streaking and making him rather uncomfortable. 

Myers couldn’t move for fear of crushing the Crab Cakes and loosening the Pork Chop further, but he didn’t really want to talk to the man anymore. He began to give an excuse, something about a cat he needed to feed. A terrible reason to leave such a nice event but what could the man do? For him to continue the conversation. No! He couldn’t. And the man began to back off, saying it was nice talking to Myers – which was a lie – and Myers began to creep towards the door. 

The Pork Chop, though. He had no control over it; the slippery, delicate Meat was no longer secure. He knew what was coming, but if he could just get to the door before it happened, there wouldn’t be that much of a problem. Myers felt that his only option was to run. Within two strides, the Pork Chop slipped out the bottom of his left pant leg and, with the force of his swinging legs, flew across the room and into the chest of the Basset Hound lady. Everyone looked. He felt a frown stretch across his lips but it was more for the loss of the Chop than from any embarrassment. He didn’t have time to mourn his Chop because men in silky suits were now approaching him, looking very angry, and he could tell that if there was ever a time he was welcome here, it had passed. 

Holding up his hand to stop them, he apologized for the flying Pork Chop: he didn’t mean for it to fall out. Then, admitting defeat, he released his suit sleeve and allowed the Crab Cakes to tumble out, one by one. Last, he pulled out the gooey stuff that had made an oily stain around the bottom of the pocket, and dropped it onto the floor. Someone yelled Foie Gras. But no one else moved, all eyes wide and astonished. Myers waited a few seconds more to see if someone would do something but he guessed that they were all too confused. So he bowed and stepped into the revolving doors. He had to go around twice because he missed the first opportunity to get out. But once he exited, he looked back into the building to see a group of women consoling the wrinkly lady, the Pork Chop in her lap. He wished he could’ve eaten it. 

When he got back to his apartment – after a twenty minute subway ride – he was disappointed about how the night had gone. He kicked off his shoes and took off his jacket, a terrible scent coming from the pocket. He went into the kitchen, grabbed a bowl from the cupboard, a spoon from the drawer and a box of Frosted Flakes from the pantry. After filling the bowl with the Flakes, he poured some milk on top, sat down at his table, and wondered what happened to Linda.