At This Point I Am Not Afraid of Death

"I see. Well that is a conversation closer."

They just went about their own business after that. Ordering more coffee or tea from the counter or asking if there were any more muffins.

"There's no more muffins," she said, coming over and slapping her handbag on the table dejectedly. It was a frilly thing, but in black. Black frills, if there could be such a design.

He arose. "Well, I can't stand for this," he said loudly.

She failed to see the humor, so he sat back again and perused the continual menu. It claimed it was a continental menu, but he knew it was just a continual one.

"It's just going to be more and more prattling on, isn't it?" she said, as he examined the features claimed by the Eggs Benedict. They had passed by a Thai restaurant on their way into the diner, and he began to wonder if their chef (the diner's) could pull of an Eggs Benedict Explosion. Being so close to a Thai restaurant, how could a chef not absorb at least a few good recipes?

Basically it was an Eggs Benedict, except the egg was infused with a drop or two of Sriracha sauce before preparation. The explosion was the calm taste of the yolk swirling around the mouth, and then the kick of hot sauce that followed along down the throat.

She stared angrily at him, and they then teleported to another diner, which had muffins. He picked one up to assure her they were real. "Blueberry," he said, taking one from the plate and munching into it. "Very yummy!" He then picked his espresso up by the handle and drank the whole thing. "Very good with coffee!" He raised an eyebrow at her, to let her know this was legit.

She laughed in his face. "You don't know anything about muffins, do you?" she said.

Everything had gone to disarray. Nothing was as he knew about them. He stood up in the middle of the diner and cried, "This isn't how I expect to be addressed regarding breakfast!"

.

She finished her muffins quietly, making him stand the way he was.

Then, silverware aside, she asked him, "This is what you call a dinner date, is it? You malfunctioning in the middle of the best part?"

He raised another eyebrow at down at her from his standing position. "Middle of the best part?"

"Yeah. You just stand up and fucking embarrass me in front of the whole restaurant. Look at that dumb bitch, she got the fucked up date."

He sat down immediately and pushed his body, dress shirt and all, against her. Well, against the dining table that separated him from her. "Madame, please accept my deepest apologies," he said, and she saw a bead of sweat travel down his face.

.

"It's okay," she said, "as I said, at this point I'm not even afraid of death."

"Oh?" he remarked. He wondered about the status of his order of the Eggs Benedict Explosion, and whether it may have not been taken very seriously by the waitstaff. "I wonder where's my eggs?" he shrugged at her.

Their diner suddenly expanded, hosting up to 500 people "LITTLE DATING FUCK, DO NOT TAKE ME FOR SOME CONJURER OF CHEAP TRICKS!" Then the diner shrank again, capable of hosting a mere 50-55 people, including babies. "I'M NOWT HERE TO ROB YOU!"

He waited for her to relax, come back down to earth again. He avoided the other patrons' stares. After all, this was none of their business.

Nothing happened for 5 minutes. At that point, he decided he should probably lift his head up and address her. "Alright, alright," he said. "Alright, I hear you," and lifted his head.

She was still there, smiling at him her ethereal beauty, waiting for his speech. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and then looked back at her.

And she had disappeared.

She had vanished. Gone. No longer in the diner.

He ran around, asking desperately, "Sir, sir. My girl, have you seen her? Is she--is she maybe in there?" pointing at the women's restrooms. He ran out onto the street. North and South, amazing architecture and full city of New York. East and the magical shifts of cars driving by playing West End Girls by the Pet Shop Boys. But there was no girl toward the West End.

He'd lost her! Then, the gravy settled into his stomach and he checked in his pockets. The ring! The ring was gone too! She'd taken his fucking ring.