Lunch Date from Hell: Jay
Twelve o’clock sharp. I pulled the Honda into Tiffany’s apartment complex with all the enthusiasm of a man headed to his own execution. The interior of the car felt haunted. Every time I looked at the passenger seat, I saw a ghostly superposition of two people: the girl who had sat there damp and shivering after jumping off of a cliff, and the girl who was about to climb in and leave a trail of coconut-scented devastation. Surprisingly, Tiffany didn’t make me wait. In fact, she was already standing on the sidewalk, wearing a sundress so short it might as all have been a long shirt and heels that were entirely too impractical for anyone involving gravel or sand. She looked triumphant. “You’re on time,” she chirped, sliding into the seat and immediately leaning over the center console
- Writer
