We decided to walk to the restaurant.
The night was beautiful and clear, with a gentle breeze that kept everything
cool, but not cold.
Dante walked next to me, his shoulder
close to mine, and occasionally he would lean close, brushing against me.
I asked, “You ever have Chinese before?
“Well, there was this one guy, but he
might have been Korean. I honestly don’t remember; it was so long ago.” He
looked at me. “Oh, you mean food. Chinese food.”
I nodded, my eyes again made wide by
the demon talk.
“I actually haven’t. The world of human
food is kind of new to me. Usually I just dine on the flesh of the damned.” He shrugged.
I stopped walking. He turned, looking at me. “Oh come on, Nando, I’m joking. Of
course I’ve had Chinese food.”
“What about the whole ‘flesh of the
damned’ thing?” I asked.
He walked up to me, looping his arm in
with mine, and started me forward again.
“Only on holidays.” He rested his head
on my shoulder. “Although, I guess you could say I’m going the demon version of
vegetarian. No more souls, no more roasted flesh of the damned. Just normal,
human food.”
I think he expected that comment to
calm me down, but it didn’t. I made a mental note to keep that holy water with
me. Just in case Dante fell off the flesh eating band wagon, or we got in a
fight or something.
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