The kitchen smelled of spices, onions sizzling in oil, and....as expected already, impending disaster.
"Shakur! No, not so fast!" I practically screamed as RoughCoin shook the pan like it had personally insulted him.
RoughCoin huffed in frustration, gripping the handle even tighter that his knuckles became white. The little pan refused to cooperate, bouncing in his grasp like a wild animal.
Almost all the cooking that evening had been done by me, with RoughCoin reluctantly watching from the sidelines. But patience was not one of his virtues.
Just as I had added the final ingredients and was about to stir, RoughCoin had stepped in, flashing those big, pleading eyes of his.
"Let me do it," he had begged.
Against my better judgment, I had agreed.
Now, watching him manhandle the poor
