Dalé says if something’s good enough, he’ll eat the bones. I nod in agreement at desire defying logic and let that make sense of my good fortune and mistakes.
His teeth are grinding feverishly on chicken bone, slurping and sucking up tomato sauce hidden in hollowed curves. I am disgusted and amazed by his dedication.
He offers me some. The aroma of clove and garlic causes my mouth to water.
I tell him, “Meat on the bone reminds me I’m eating a carcass.” He laughs at my need for food to lie to me but offers to cut some off the breast. He’s kind.
I smile and shake my head, no.
He asks if I, “ever tire of being couth?”
I tell him, “Sometimes I eat the bones.”

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I’m trying a new thing on Instagram with my morning pages that marries life lessons with my fiction writing as an exploration in communication. Follow along so you can engage with me. Leave a comment telling me how you interpret this, what the lessons are, and/or how you see yourself in it.

Let’s see how this goes
As always, be good to one another.

xV