6
Back at his apartment, Brian battered a fish fillet and sliced a potato thick for chips. Like most of his best kitchenware, Helen had bought him the deep fat fryer as a birthday gift. He considered making a salad but had forgotten to pick up cherry tomatoes at the supermarket.
“What’s this? You bring me a salad with no cherry tomatoes … I don’t want it, take it back,” Brian said in the worst Pacino impression ever. Unable to remember who said the quote, or if it even existed, he settled into cooking.
After dinner he was stuffed and sleepy. He’d eaten so much fat, he could practically feel his arteries suffocating. The sun was about to set. Red and golden rays peered through the blinds, illuminating swirls of dust motes in the air.
Brian poured a bourbon and flopped onto the sofa. It
