"Did you hear me?""Ah, yes? What's wrong?" I stammered. It's bad. This is the third time Susan has said that, I hope she's not getting fed up."I said, the food is good, right?"I scooped up the pasta that I'd been eating for a while, put it in my mouth, and chewed. This was even worse than my cooking when I was sleepy.I took a quick glance at the tender's table, just to see what kind of chef was behind the kitchen, and... it was pretty ordinary.A smiling, 30-something man who seemed to be known to most of the bar patrons. Well, one valuable lesson there, familiarity can distort the performance of the senses."Yeah... that's it," I said, in the end. I looked at Susan's still beaming face, like she wished I had said something more. Something like what? Okay. It all started because of my (forced) involvement with those pesky thugs, but it wasn't an experience I wanted to remember, let alone retell proudly.Susan seemed to realise that. She leaned back, sighed, and picked up her mobil
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